


Pleasure and Profit

by buttsbeyondbutts



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Dom Stiles, Established Relationship, F/M, Lawyers, M/M, Organized Crime, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Character Death, Porn With Plot, Public Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sub Derek Hale, Swearing, Trans Female Character, Trans Lydia, Trans Male Character, Trans Stiles, Verbal Humiliation, degredation, restroom sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-26 03:50:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1673609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttsbeyondbutts/pseuds/buttsbeyondbutts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Seriously? This is how you get off?” Stiles said, knowing Derek was raging hard at all the contact, “A million interns, paralegals and judges, all salivating to ride that pathetic little dick and you need a fucking pencil pusher to spank you? Can you imagine what they’d think if they saw you here?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The phone rang twice before Stiles woke up enough to answer it. “H’lo,” he mumbled, pressing his face into the pillow.

“Did I wake you?” said the voice on the other end, in lieu of an actual greeting.

“It’s midnight on a Wednesday, Derek, yes, you woke me,” Stiles grumbled.

“Sorry,” Derek’s voice was soft. Stiles almost believed his apology. “I thought- go back to sleep-“

“Nope,” he sat up, stifling a yawn. “I’m up now. What do you want?”

“It can wait,” Derek said hurriedly. “I shouldn’t have called this late, go back to sleep.”

Stiles took a deep breath. “What’s wrong, Derek? Tell me,”

Derek stayed silent. Stiles pictured him, up in his obscene pent house, roaming the way too elegant rooms in frustration as he debated with himself about whether to call Stiles or not.

“I can’t sleep,” Derek grumbled finally, just as Stiles was about to press him further. “Can you come over?”

Stiles pushed his wild mess of sleep hair out of his face and asked, “is this for work?”

“No,” of course not. Work was limited to daylight hours, “You don’t have to. It’s late. I didn’t-”

“Shut up, Derek,” Stiles said in a cold voice. Derek went silent even before the words were out of his mouth. “Give me ten minutes to shower and call me a cab, okay? I’m not riding the subway all the way uptown at midnight.”

“Okay,” Derek agreed in a single, quiet breath, “Thank you, Stiles.”

Stiles smiled into the phone. “You’re welcome, Derek. Never be afraid to ask for what you need, understand?”

“Yes, Stiles,”

“Good. I’ll see you in a bit, okay? Goodbye, Derek,”

“Goodbye, Stiles,” Stiles hung up first. He rose with a yawn and slipped into the shower. A familiar black sedan waited for him when he was finished. The driver handed him a cup of coffee, prepared to his exact specifications.

“I told him to call me a cab,” he said, taking the coffee.

“Yes, Mr. Stilinski,” The driver, a thin man with a mustache, said, “Mr. Hale doesn’t trust the cabs at this time of night.”

Stiles sighed. “Thanks,” he said, “I’m sorry he got you up so late.”

“It’s not a problem, sir,” he frowned a little, “Wouldn’t you like to sit in the back?”

“No, thanks. It feels weird in a regular car. Just… take me to Mr. Hale’s place, please?”

“Yes, sir.” The drive went quickly, maybe twenty minutes from Stiles’ apartment to Derek’s posh neighborhood. Stiles resisted the urge to cringe when the door man greeted him by name. The elevator opened inside Derek’s apartment. Stiles shrugged his hoodie onto the floor and made a beeline for the office. Derek sat at his computer, clicking at some game, glaring with unnecessary focus.  He jumped a little as Stiles open the door.

“Color,” Stiles said, interrupting his greeting.

“Green,” Derek’s scrunched up face immediately relaxed. Green meant go.

“Bedroom,” Stiles commanded, turning on his heel and striding out the way he came, “Now.”

He didn’t look back as Derek shuffled behind him.

“Strip,” he commanded, once they reached the bedroom. Stiles could have fit his entire shitty apartment in the bedroom of Derek Hale, Esquire. He sat at the bar, leaning back against the black marble counter to watch Derek’s progress. The older man, six years Stiles’ senior, went slowly. He pulled his navy blue t-shirt over his shoulders, revealing golden tanned biceps and a chest that made Stiles want to weep. He kept his face impassive. He managed to frown even when Derek let his sweats drop to the floor. At least, Derek made a token effort to sleep before calling Stiles over. His body was made for suits and ties though, if not tight bondage gear or completely naked as he was now. Derek stepped forward, out of the ratty sweats, waiting for instruction. His arms hung stiffly at his side, still too tense.

Stiles stood up, circling slowly around his boy. “Get on the bed,” he instructed, “Face down. Spread eagle.”

Derek obeyed, lying on the black four poster bed without a word. Stiles paused a moment, drinking in Derek’s powerful form with his eyes, before turned to the toy cupboard. He selected the heavier chains and secured them tightly around Derek’s wrists and ankles, just tight enough to hurt a little. Derek relaxed immediately under the touch. “You want the paddle or the nine tails?” Stiles asked, letting his fingers linger over his warm skin.

“Whatever you want, Stiles,” he breathed, “Please.”

“Alright,” Stiles said, returning to the toy cupboard. The paddle would work well to get Derek to sleep. He chose the broad oak, with four big holes in the frame to cut down on resistance. He turned back to Derek, letting it rest in the crook of his palm. Derek squirmed, testing the restraints or maybe in anticipation of what was coming. “Lie still, asshole,” Stiles commanded. Derek froze instantly.

“You’re a piece of work, you know that?” Stiles muttered, “Big shot criminal lawyer… can’t fall asleep without begging his assistant to come beat the shit out of him… you know you’re fucking crazy, right?”

“Yes, Stiles,” Derek whispered and Stiles hit him hard. The crack of his paddle against Derek’s pert ass echoed right through his body. Stiles grinned, knowing Derek couldn’t see him.

“Shut the fuck up,” he said acidly. “I was asleep, asshole. I had a dream where my boss wasn’t fucking pathetic.”

Derek whimpered at the barb. Stiles hit him again, a little harder. Derek’s pert round ass already glowed with a tinging red. Stiles leaned over him, giving the throbbing cheeks a hard pinch. Winding scars lined Derek’s back, some old and some fresh, nearly all from Stiles. He sat back, letting his full weight rest on Derek’s thighs and spanked him again, lazily. He left the paddle there, like Derek was just a shelf to fill when Stiles need it.

“Seriously? This is how you get off?” Stiles said, knowing Derek was raging hard at all the contact, “A million interns, paralegals and judges, all salivating to ride that pathetic little dick and you need a fucking pencil pusher to spank you? Can you imagine what they’d think if they saw you here?”

He stood, circling the bed to land another blow on Derek’s cheeks, “All those fucking stuffed shirts, conservative prosecution lawyers you call friends? What would they say if I told them that big, bad Derek Hale,” Derek shivered against the paddle, “needs to get beaten up by his assistant before he can go beddy bye? They’d laugh your ass out of court and they’d be right to. You’re fucking pathetic. I don’t know how the hell you conned your way into the D.A’s office but how long do you think you can keep this up?”

Derek muttered something that sounded like a please into his pillow. Stiles hesitated but Derek knew to tell him if he went too far. So he spanked him again and continued. “I mean, you’re a pretty boy from a rich family but that’s about it. How long before they realize how utterly useless you are? I mean, hell, you begged me to come over here and beat you up in the middle of the night. How. Pathetic. Can. You. Get,” and he punctuated each word with another blow.

He stopped, panting from the exertion. Hitting Derek was like beating a brick wall. Once Derek asked Stiles to take him over his knee and Stiles had walked away with bruises on his hand. He glanced at the digital clock above the bar. He had about four hours before Derek needed to be at work. Derek had is eyes squeezed closed. His bare skin was drenched with sweat and Stiles could feel him shaking beneath him, constant tremors that Derek couldn’t possibly control.

He stood, stretching the aches from his back and shoulders. “This is all you’re really good for,” He muttered, stroking the angry red marks on Derek’s ass, “Just an ass to kick, just a hole to fuck, is that right?”

Derek nodded, releasing a muffled groan into his pillow. “Stiles” he murmured, barely audible, “Please…”

“Please what?” Stiles prompted.

“Fuck me,” Derek keened in a high voice, “Please, fuck me! Please!”

Stiles swallowed. He paddled him again, relishing the loud slap as it echoed through the bedroom. Derek kept begging, whimpering like a wounded animal. Stiles breathed deeply and slipped out of his jeans.

“Shut up,” he said, wishing his voice wouldn’t shake. He stood, slowly removing his weight from Derek's body. "I'll fuck you when I'm good and ready, understand? You wait for it."

He caught a brief sight of Derek’s face in the mirror of the toy cabinet as he selected his strap on du jour. Derek's collection of vibrators and dildos, started before Stiles was old enough to play with his father's handcuffs was, like Derek himself, exciting and intimidating. They ranged from sleek bullets to fleshy hyper realistic dongs, except nobody actually had a dick that big. Stiles selected one of the later, seven inches of peach colored rubber with a round, uncut head. Derek told him once he only ever fucked with his own toys, since he knew exactly where they had been and therefore didn't have to worry about any kind of STDs. Stiles hadn't asked who was on the end of the toys. It wasn't any of his business, nor did he like to think of it much, though he did, every time Derek needed to be fucked. Since they started whatever they were doing together, each of the toys had been modified for a strap on. Stiles liked to imagine that he had something to do with that decision. Securing the harness around his waist. Stiles watched Derek. His boss, sub, lover, whatever Derek was to him, had his eyes closed tightly. Sweat dripped from his face and his bit down hard on his lip to keep quiet. One good stroke and he’d be done for. Derek knew better than to come without Stiles’ permission though, not unless he wanted to be punished for it. Those games got played on the weekends.

Condom in place, he stood behind Derek, watching him squirm. “You can beg now,” he said, dropping down between his legs and whispering in his ear, “I want to hear every little noise, asshole. Get your money’s worth.”

“Please,” Derek groaned as Stiles’ lubed fingers slipped inside him, stretching him open. Stiles sat back on his haunches, watching the show,  “Fuck me, Stiles. Please, I need you."

“Okay,” he said, lining himself up with that perfect, throbbing ass and thrusting inside. Derek groaned arching into him. Stiles pulled him up as far as the chains would allow, his fingers clawing into rock hard abs. Derek's ass pressed into his crotch. Stiles knew he was raging hard and somehow, that knowledge, combined with the back thrust of Derek's ass against his pelvis and the way the cuffs pressed hard against his skin had his own equipment alive and responding. He couldn't resist the urge to help himself along either. two fingers pushing into himself to find just the right spot as he pounded against Derek. “Fuck,” he shouted, unable to maintain character, “Derek! You’re made for this, Derek. You’re made for me.”

“Yes,” Derek groaned. “Stiles, please! Use me! I need you, please!”

They settled into a hard pounding rhythm. Stiles held back as long as he possibly could, biting hard on to Derek’s neck, reaching up to pinch his nipples. Derek squealed beneath him, unintelligible noises and Stiles’ name over and over again until he came in a dizzying rush. Stiles slumped against Derek’s back, sweaty and exhausted. Derek lowered them down onto the bed.

“Did you come?” He whispered, hoping Derek won’t mind the break in character.

Derek shook his head. “You’ve been good,” Stiles said, gently, sliding out of him. “Do you wanna come?”

He nodded, rolling over as much as the chains would allow. “Please,” he murmured again, his eyes closed. “I think I can go to sleep now.”

Stiles pressed a small kiss to the back of his neck, got up and undid the chains. Derek’s brown eyes flickered open as he rolled over onto his back, looking dreamy and far away. “You did so good,” He whispered, circling his hand around Derek’s thick cock and stroking him gently. He came quickly, spilling onto dark bed sheets. Stiles reached for a towel to clean it up but Derek caught his arm before he could stand. “Stay,” he whispered, voice a little shaky.

Stiles kissed him again. “I’ll be back in a second,” he promised, “I just wanna clean up, okay?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Derek insisted sleepily, “Maids…”

“Nobody’s paid enough to deal with caked on jizz,” Stiles chuckled. He managed to break Derek’s grip and ignore the lonely little moan he made as he grabbed the towel and wet it in the bar sink. He got the bed relatively clean in a few seconds, shoving the paddle and chains underneath before crawling in with Derek and covering them both with the sheet. “You did so good,” he said, pulling Derek in close. “Seriously, you’re amazing. You know that right?

He rolled over in his arms and buried his face in Stiles’ chest. Stiles just stroked his hair, whispering careful assurances and holding him gently. Eventually, Derek’s breath evened. His arms relaxed around Stiles’ slender frame.

“Thank you, Stiles,” he murmured, just when Stiles was sure he was asleep. “Stay?”

“I gotta get across town, buddy,” he said, gently stroking Derek’s hair. “My stuff’s there. You go to sleep, okay? I’ll see you at work.”

“You’ve got an extra suit here,” Derek argued, “All the work stuff is on our servers and I don’t like you wandering the city at night. Stay.”

He pressed a kiss to Derek’s forehead. “Go to sleep.”

“Please stay,” Derek murmured. His breath was warm on Stiles’ neck. “Please. I don’t wanna wake up and find you gone.”

Stiles frowned but snuggled in closer. Derek tucked his chin over Stiles’ shoulder, draping his leg over his side like an octopus. “Okay,” Stiles’ huffed, settling in. “Just this once.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles are in an established D/s relationship but secretive about it due to work. 
> 
> I will update the tags as I go along to avoid spoilers.
> 
> This is my first actual BDSM scene. I hope it went well!
> 
> Comments are appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek first met Stiles at The Tantalus Club, five hours away from Beacon Hills. The young man, barely twenty five, had slunk into the dungeon in a black t-shirt and jeans and hid out by the bar. Derek was handcuffed to a torture rack for a bull whip demonstration. The woman, identified only as H, had the whole dungeon surrounding him. Twenty or thirty sets of eyes focused on him, shirtless with an erection threatening to burst through his jeans, and Derek settled on his amber orbs from across the room. He followed his tongue as it traced over his soft puffed out lips with an anticipation Derek didn’t yet understand.

Those lips were parted now, letting a thin line of drool slip down onto Derek’s pillow. Derek’s alarm would ring in a few moments and shock Stiles back to consciousness. They’d have to get up and go to work and then Stiles would go back to his shitty apartment in the dangerous neighborhood. Derek stretched his fingers in Stiles’ thick brown hair. He’d mussed it, burying his face into Derek’s pillow. He mumbled something unintelligible in his sleep and squirmed closer. Derek swallowed, biting his lips. Kissing would wake him too soon.

The alarm broke the spell. Stiles woke with a moan and Derek dutifully went to turn it off. “Why is there morning?” he whined miserably.

“Go back to sleep,” Derek said, pulling on his shorts, “I’m gonna work out for half an hour. I’ll wake you when I’m done.”

“No,” he grumbled, heaving himself up and blinking like a cat. “I’m gonna shower before you use all the hot water.”

Derek chuckled, “I’ve lived here for six years, Stiles. I’ve never run out of hot water. Ever.”

“You’re so bourgeoisie,” Stiles said, stumbling to his feet. “Christ, I’m tired.”

Derek caught him by the arm. Stiles grinned up at him, his eyes crinkling at the ends. “I shouldn’t have called you so late,” Derek said, with a frown. Stiles had bags under his eyes.

“Relax,” Stiles shook him off. “Go make your arms bigger. I’m gonna cheat on you with your shower.”

Derek watched him go, gloriously naked, into the main apartment. His ivory skin seemed to glow in the morning light, its white sheen interrupted only by the occasional black mole or freckle. Derek went into the gym, his legs itching to follow Stiles. He settled instead for a hundred pushups and twenty lifts. Stiles came in half way through his work out, dripping in warm water, his arms crossed with a grin plastered across his face. Derek closed his eyes. He could smell the leather of the club, feel those eyes probing his body.  The others watched everything, the wave of H’s bullwhip, the glint in her dark eyes, sweet dripping from gold brown skin to black vinyl. Stiles only watched him and Derek, a decade after he first walked into a dungeon and asked someone to hit him, found himself blushing under that gaze.

“Come on, boss man, we gotta go to work,” he said, handing Derek a bottle of water. “Bad guys to put away.”

“Okay,” Derek nodded, taking a swig. He showered quickly and found Stiles waiting outside the bathroom, fully dressed, tablet in hand.

“You gotta be in Court at nine on the Daehler arraignment,” he said, without looking up, “Lahey’s co-counsel, so have fun doing all the talking. Also, I am never coming over here without my stuff again. I hate your tablet with every fiber of my being.”

“It’s brand new,” Derek shrugged, heading towards his closet. He selected the black with red tie, funeral garb, the only way he could stomach the Argents, even if they weren’t going to be there.

“You’ll buy anything with pointless bells and whistles,” Stiles rolled his eyes, “You know they’re going to lower the price in a couple weeks, right? Money’s wasted on the rich.”

“Learn to adapt, Stiles,” Derek said, straightening his tie. He glanced at the clock. “Come on, we’re late.”

“Does breakfast mean nothing to you?” Stiles squawked, following him through the apartment. He ducked into the kitchen and came out with a brown paper bag and Derek’s mug of coffee. “Bagel, smear, coffee, mint,” he said, thrusting them into Derek’s hands. “The cars waiting downstairs with your fancy pants brief case. Also, the eighties called, they want that back.”

The elevator doors closed in front of them. Stiles went quiet, watching Derek carefully. “You were really gonna go in there on an empty stomach? You barely slept last night, dude.”

Derek reached out and gave Stiles shoulder a tight squeeze. Stiles patted his hand, gently. “You’re gonna be fine, Derek, I promise. Anything you need, just let me know alright?”

He nodded, “You didn’t eat either.”

Stiles scoffed. “I had breakfast and my T before I got in the shower, dude. Don’t talk like you know me.”

Derek chuckled and the elevator dinged open on the ground floor. The doorman, Bryce, nodded to them as they walked through the lobby.

“Eat your bagel,” Stiles instructed, sliding across the seat. “We’re stopping by the office first, see what they know, and then it’s Judge Whitmore with the Daehler case. Spoiler, he already lawyered up.”

“Argent’s soldiers always do. Who’s opposing?” Derek asked, “Deucalion?”

“No, Daehler’s not worth the big guns,” Stiles said, scanning the tablet for relevant information, “They’ve got some new chick, Jennifer Blake. Fresh outta law school and already helping the bad guys walk. Nice.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, fighting to keep a straight face.

“No, I’m sure she genuinely believes Matt Daehler, convicted of armed robbery and solicitation and arrested over twenty other times on battery assault and B&Es, just found those stolen handguns and was totally taking them to the police station when he got pulled over doing sixty five in a school zone.” Stiles snorted, “Had them on the front seat, fucking asshole.”

Derek took a sip of his coffee, listening to Stiles run on about priors and technicalities and how Daehler would have to be “Brain dead not to squeal on Gerard.” Catching as the younger man’s fervor was, The Argents had a talent for squirming out of sure things. Daehler was convicted twice and got off with less than a year in prison thanks to good behavior and crooked judges. With that smug face, Whitmore could definitely be bought.

“Any word from Captain Boyd?” Derek asked.

“He’ll call when he’s got something, I’m sure,” Stiles said, “Don’t know what you’re asking me for, Mister you-don’t-need-to-talk-to-undercovers-Stiles, Esquire.”

“You don’t.” Derek said, “Boyd barely trusts me with his information, let alone some mouthy kid. It took three years to get the relationship I have.”

A flash of pink crossed Stiles face. “You’re gonna pay for that mouthy kid comment later, asshole,” he muttered.

“Promise?” Derek wanted to ask, because that thought was probably going to get him through the arraignment with Daehler today. Instead he took another gulp of his coffee as Stiles continued; “And Boyd trusts you more than anybody.”

“Not more than he trusts himself,” Derek said, “He’s not letting anyone near his under covers and I don’t blame him.”

“Ugh,” Stiles said. He kept talking, reviewing the case against Daehler and how they could tie him to the Argents, How Daehler might be willing to testify if they played their cards right. The car dropped them off at the D.A’s office and they slipped inside, Stiles babbling all the way. Isaac Lahey was waiting for them, twitching nervously in the waiting room of Derek’s office.

“Anything new,” Derek asked while Stiles glared, sauntering behind his desk to grab a few files. Isaac shook his head, standing quickly. He wore a simple black suit, just barely too small for him, that seemed perpetually rumpled.

“Super glad you’re here to tell us these things, Lahey,” Stiles muttered, “Oh, hey guys, Yukimura wants to talk to you before court.”

“When and where?” Derek asked. He set the empty coffee mug onto Stiles’s desk.

“Here and now,” District Attorney Noshiko Yukimura said, stepping into the office. Isaac jumped back and settled on awkwardly leaning against the wall like he intended to all along. “Good morning, gentlemen. Mr. Stilinski, how are you?”

“Can’t complain, boss of boss,” Stiles nodded.  Derek grimaced. Stiles, because he technically worked for Derek rather than the District Attorney’s office, could talk to Yukimura like that. She gave him a small nod and turned to Derek and Isaac, “I trust the arraignment will go smoothly, Mr. Hale.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Derek nodded, “Daehler’s clearly guilty. We can get him to talk after sentencing.”

“I’ve heard those promises before, Mr. Hale,” Yukimura said with a small frown. For a woman who never smiled, the D.A’s frowns were extremely pronounced. “Daehler’s walked too many times. He thinks he’s untouchable and he thinks Gerard Argent makes it so. Don’t prove him right, or next time he will do something monumentally stupid.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Derek said. Even Lahey managed a small mumble of assent.

“Good luck, Gentlemen,” she turned without another word and left.

“Chills,” Stiles muttered, picking up Derek’s coffee mug and staring after Yukimura, “Okay, court time?”

Stiles elected to sit up front with the driver and, mercifully, Isaac forgot he was there enough to go over the case with Derek. He was less optimistic about getting Daehler to talk that Stiles had been.

“We don’t even know if he’s got anything to say,” he mumbled, looking over his case notes, “Argent trusts women more than men.”

“Yes, he’s refreshingly feminist for a mob boss,” Derek agreed, “And Argent’s women have a knack for walking away unconnected rather than just beating the rap. Daehler’s not stupid though. He might have seen something or heard something we can use. Right now he’s our best bet for building a case against Gerard.”

Isaac nodded. “Do you want to handle the arraignment?” Derek asked in a low voice.

Isaac shook his head, his green eyes going wide. “It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Derek assured quickly, “but I think you should. You know this case backwards and forwards. I think it would be good experience for you.”

The junior attorney shook his head again, closing his eyes tightly. “You do it, Derek,” he said in small breath, “I can’t,”

“Okay,” Derek patted his shoulder gently and Isaac barely relaxed as the car pulled up in front of the court house. Stiles handed him his brief case with a small smile and a “go get ‘em, boss,” before following them into the court room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! You got plot in my porn!
> 
> so two things: 1. In case you missed it above Stiles is a trans man. He mentions taking "T" or testosterone with breakfast. This story is not about Stiles being trans but it is a part of his identity in my head canon and in my fics. Obviously, Derek knows his gender identity. I am a cis woman so if at any point I handle transgender issues poorly, please let me know. I've tried to do as much research as I need to but I'm certain I don't know everything there is to know. Please be patient with me. 
> 
> (I am aware of the BDSM communities negative interactions with transgender people and that it is very difficult for transgender people to obtain employment (due to lack of protection in our legal system). Derek is progressive in this story, as is Stiles' family. If it helps, try to imagine the story is set in an alternate universe were people aren't terrible about gender identity issues)
> 
> 2\. I am not a lawyer. I have no formal training in law, I just think guys in suits are sexy. Please don't be disappointed if I skip over the law parts entirely in the future. The research I've done feels hyper boring so I'm sure I missed some stuff. 
> 
> again, comments are appriciated.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles sat behind Derek and Lahey in court. He had been thrown out on more than a few cases by petty asshole judges who wanted to display their power but Whitmore allowed his presence so long as Stiles kept his mouth shut. Stiles endured, mostly because Derek performed better when he was watching. When he was younger, shutting up was almost impossible for Stiles. His step-mother thought he carried so many secrets around that he had to blurt out everything else to keep people from guessing and she might have had a point then but now, he just enjoyed watching Derek.

Stiles’ father, before he retired as Sheriff of Beacon County, had taught him the ins and outs of the law, the world of criminals and justice. Stiles lapped it up like chocolate pudding but he saw everything in black and white. For Derek, the law was a palette of color he could manipulate into any form he wanted. In the wrong hands, he might have been terrified but Whitmore nodded every time he spoke and frowning when Blake tried her counter arguments. Stiles felt like he would burst in smug pride that it was his boy who could make people see anything he wanted.

“Alright, bail is set at half a million,” Whitmore banged his gavel, “The trial begins a week from tomorrow, at nine o’clock sharp,”

“Your honor, I’d like to schedule a deposition with Mr. Daehler before trial, please,: Derek requested. “Today if possible,”

“It’s not possible,” Blake said, glaring daggers at Derek. The prosecutor kept his eyes firmly trained on Judge Whitmore.

“Getting all of the facts settled before trial can only benefit Mr. Daehler and this court,” Derek continued, “Frankly, if Mr. Daehler had cooperated when he was first arrested, we might not be here today.”

“My client has every right to protect himself from incrimination,” Blake said, “A deposition is pointless, your honor. Everything will be settled during the trial by a jury of Matt Daehler’s peers.”

Stiles wondered where they’d find twelve criminal assholes to serve as a jury of Daehler’s peers. Maybe grab a bunch of guys from a liquor store at twelve noon.

“Waiting a week only gives Miss Blake more time to coach her client in the exquisite art of half-truth, or for Gerard Argent to buy off the jury-”

“How dare-”

“I need to speak with Mr. Daehler alone, before he’s offered up as a patsy for a man who doesn’t care if he lives, dies or rots in jail-”

“Mr. Hale,” The judge banged his gavel again, “One more word and I’ll hold you in contempt.”

Derek nodded, his mouth in a hard line, chiseled jaw set. Blake smiled like she had won something and Isaac Lahey looked like he was about to pass out. Stiles caught a quick glimpse of Daehler. His eyes darted quickly to Derek and then at the door to the court room, like a rabbit surrounded by hungry wolves. He was sweating for the first time since the arraignment began.

“The arraignment is set for tomorrow at three in the afternoon,” Whitmore continued. “I trust twenty four hours is enough time to vet your client, Miss Blake?”

“Yes, your honor,” she said, triumphant smile fading.

“Miss Blake will be present at the arraignment as well. Since Mr. Daehler has already invoked his right to an attorney, it will be up to him whether she stays or goes. Is that understood?”

“Yes, your honor,” they spoke in unison.

Whitmore banged his gavel once more before dismissing them and disappearing into his chambers. Daehler immediately leaned over to confer with his lawyer, Blake whispering fast reassurances. Stiles buried himself in Derek’s tablet, emailing Yukimura the good news. Derek stood, silently packing up his papers with Lahey. He nodded to a livid Blake on the way out, “See you tomorrow,”

He stayed quiet in the car, listening to Derek and Isaac talk about the case in quick practical tones. He watched them through the rear view mirror, Isaac watching Derek like he’d just cured cancer and world hunger with just the power of his voice. Stiles couldn’t blame him.

Derek sent Isaac back to his desk to review Gerard’s previous trials. The few that made it to the courtroom never resulted in convictions and Stiles suspected the judges, juries and the evidence locker had been bought and paid for but it never hurt to see what went wrong. He brought Derek a bottle of water from the vending machines and found him hunched on the couch meant for clients, his head in his hands.

Stiles closed the door.

“What’s wrong?” He knelt down next to Derek with his hand against the small of the other man’s back. Derek flinched a little, unused to the familiar gesture outside of his apartment, but relax against it. Gratified, Stiles began to rub in small soothing circles, as he did after particularly grueling scenes. “You were amazing in there.”

“I made a mistake,” Derek groaned softly. “Got cocky. Gave away our hand. Daehler won’t talk.”

“What?” Stiles stared, “Of course, he’s going to- look, Argent’s not stupid. He knows you’ve been building a case against him for months-“ _obsessively so,_ he added mentally, frowning at the deep bags and premature lines littering Derek’s handsome face, “You didn’t say anything he doesn’t already know. The case against Daehler is air tight. A rat like him will always save itself and this time Argent can’t save him. He’s got no choice but to talk.”

“And if Argent shuts him up?” Derek said, rubbing his eyes roughly, “What then?”

 _One less scumbag,_ Stiles thought before he could stop himself. “That’s not going to happen,” he said, in the same commanding voice he used in the bedroom, “Drink your water.”

Derek obeyed almost instantly, tilting his head back and chugging the plastic bottle. He handed it back to Stiles with a small sigh. “I don’t know what to do,” he muttered, eyes downcast.

“I do,” Stiles said, swallowing, “Color?”

Derek stared at him. “What.”

“I-” Stiles wanted to back track. There were rules. They didn’t… play in the office, not during work hours. Certainly not in the middle of the day. Sure, there were a few late nights when they both needed the release and there was no one around to catch them except for a few janitors. Stiles had bribed his friend Danny into wiping the security tapes. They had reputations to protect. Derek needed to have a job for Stiles to have a job. Stiles needed this job. Sex wasn’t worth risking that.

It didn’t have to be sex though and Derek was too pale, too panicked to focus on the case, what needed to be done. So he said again, willing his voice to be firm. “Color?”

Derek swallowed again. “What did you have in mind?”

“Just something to help you focus, to relax,” Stiles hemmed, “Light bondage, nothing to intense. Want to?”

Derek raised his eyebrow, some of the tension leaking out of his face. “What do you want to use for restraints?”

Stiles bit his lip. “Take off your tie,” he ordered, waiting for Derek to protest.

He didn’t even hesitate, pulling the red length of fabric out of his collar, exposing his throat. He kept his face emotionless but Stiles could see his Adam’s apple bob with anticipation. Stiles fought the urge to kiss him. Instead he stood, leading Derek over to his desk.

Derek sat without being told and Stiles went to his knees.

“I’ll give you enough room to reach your laptop but you won’t be able to stand unless I untie you,” he said, sliding the soft silk around the handle of Derek’s desk drawer, “Color?”

“Green,” Derek breathed in softly as he watched Stiles secure the make shift bonds around his wrist, just tight enough to hurt. He winced slightly as Stiles began to pull. “Never pegged you for a boy scout.”

Stiles scoffed, “They kicked me out.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek said immediately.

“Well, they tend to frown on almost starting forest fires,” he shrugged, carefully manipulating the cord. “I made Scott teach me all the knots anyway. He almost made it to Eagle, you know?”

“Impressive,” he mutter, “Your brother, Scott?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, smiling fondly, “But we were best friends before our folks got hitched.”

“Ah,” Derek said, even though Stiles had told him that before.

“How’s that feel?” He said, leaning back on his haunches to see his handiwork. “Too tight? Can you break it?”

Derek tested the bonds carefully, and Stiles could just barely see his muscles flex beneath the crisp fabric of his suit. He could probably break free if he really had to but the knots would hold anyway. “It feels good,” he murmured, “Right.”

“Good,” Stiles felt himself flush a little at the need in Derek’s voice. “I’m gonna tie your ankles too.” He said, pulling his own tie off, maybe in too much of a hurry. Derek just nodded. Stiles slid underneath the desk, gently coiling the tie around Derek’s thick ankles. His hair was standing on end, gratifying Stiles to the core.

“This is where it gets dangerous,” he muttered, his cheek pressed to Derek’s knee, “You know I didn’t lock the door, right? Anybody could come in here: Lahey, Yukimura… fuck, the little old lady who delivers sandwiches could wander in and see you tied up with a grown man at your feet. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Stiles,” Derek breathed.

“But you’re letting me do this,” Stiles said, in a wondering tone. “You want me to do this. This…” he ran his fingers over the bulge pressing up against Derek’s pants, “this excites you, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Stiles,” Derek’s breath hitched.

“Don’t come in your pants, asshole,” Stiles said, sliding out from under the desk, Derek’s ankles tied firmly together. He stood, brushing his hair back away from his face. Derek squirmed against his restraint, testing the bounds of captivity. He could reach his laptop and barely put the phone on speaker if he pulled his rolling chair as close as possible. Getting up would be out of the question. He’d have to hop and then he’d trip and fall on his dick. He was already sweating, either with exertion or anticipation since the room sat at a cool fifty degrees. The idea of Derek on the floor, with a bruised, stinging erection and at his mercy made Stiles bite his lip.

“You got work to do,” he said, when he could manage to speak, “Do it quick and we can have some fun.”

Derek glanced up at him, still gleaming with sweat. Stiles closed his eyes. “Make sure you do it right though, or you’ll be punished.”

 _And if the punishment and reward are the same thing… it’s not like you’ll know,_ Stiles thought, reluctantly returning to his own desk. Derek’s was bigger and more old fashioned. It gave clients a sense of security, often needed when they were dealing with state witnesses who’d already seen gruesome acts and whose lives were in danger just by being there. It also hid his employer’s erections. 

Derek typed away, quick and dutiful, without looking away from the screen. Stiles rested his cheek on his closed fist, idly opening the web cam and angling it so he could see Derek with greater clarity. Such a good boy. His own work neglected, Stiles watched him carefully for any signs of too much discomfort. Derek, more than any report, memo or filing he had to do, was his job. When Stiles first met him, Derek had been a mess. The office drowned in paper clutter, stuff that janitors were too afraid to touch, and Derek himself had run late to nearly every meeting, too nervous and jittery about his clothes and cases. Before Stiles, he’d been a second away from losing his job and the penthouse, too caught up in anxiety to do what needed to be done, or so his sister had told Stiles when she responded to his ad. 

Of course, when he went to the penthouse for the interview, Stiles had no idea that Derek Hale was the same beautiful sub he’d seen being whipped in the Tantalus club the weekend before. Stiles had nearly shit his pants when he recognized him.

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice broke him out of his memories. He sounded normal enough, to those untrained in detecting that hint of need that crept into his voice even when he desperately tried to keep it out.  “Come in here, please?”

Stiles obeyed, closing the door behind him. “What do you need, Derek?”

“I-” and in that small sigh all his bravado disappeared and Derek was his entirely, all sweat and taut muscles waiting for reward or punishment, “Stiles, I’ve finished it. Everything.”

“Everything? It’s only been-“ Stiles looked at his phone. Two hours had flown by since he tied Derek up, “Well, did you do a good job?”

“Yes, I think. I don’t know… Stiles,” he squirmed again, flexing his fingers in need of some new task. Stiles set the laptop out of the way and sat on Derek’s desk, bracketing him with his legs.

“Relax,” he said as Derek shivered, “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He didn’t quite let Derek relax though as he carefully proof read the plans for the eventual Argent trial, the reports for Yukimura and the questions for Boyd and other witnesses. Instead, he rested his foot against Derek’s crotch, outlining his erection with the toe of his black oxfords. His dick twitched at the sensation and Stiles’ answered in return. Still, he forced himself to read carefully, to do his job.

“Not bad,” he said finally, “A couple spelling errors that I fixed,”

“Thank you, Stiles,” Derek said in a groan.

“But no major problems. You did well.”

Derek said nothing but looked up at Stiles, eyes wet with  need and anticipation. He was biting his lip so hard, Stiles feared it might bleed.

“I promised you a reward now, didn’t I?” he said, pressing his foot a little harder against Derek’s dick. “What do you want?”

“Stiles,” he murmured and it was a plea rather than an answer.

“That water’s gotta be coming up on you fast,” Stiles said, “I could let you take a piss if you wanted, but you’re a little too hard to make it to the bathroom now, aren’t you?”

Derek nodded, closing his eyes.

“So you gotta come I guess,” he said, with another quick press, “You want me to make you come, asshole?”

Derek nodded again.

“Say it,” Stiles commanded.

“Make me come, Stiles,” Derek said in a low voice, “Please, Stiles, please let me come.”

“Alright,” Stiles withdrew his foot from Derek’s crotch and crossed his legs on the desk. “I’ll let you come but I’m not going to touch you. You’re going to come from my voice alone, got it?”

“Yes, Stiles,” Derek said, squeezing his eyes shut, “Please,”

“You remember the first time we met?” He asked, “The first time I touched you?” he clarified in case Derek thought of that very first moment when their eyes locked across the club.

“Yes.”

“Your office at the penthouse was a fuckin’ disaster, you remember that? Even though you and Cora obviously made an effort to hide it, I could still tell, you know? I recognized you instantly from the club. How could I forget that face?  That body? I wanted you so badly that night. I wanted to tie you up with that bull whip and play with you all night long.”

“Stiles…” Derek moaned, his eyes suddenly open. He tried to lift himself from the chair but Stiles pushed him down easily.

“Don’t make me touch you again,” he warned, “I’m talking.”

Derek sat down again, looking like a kicked puppy. Stiles scooted back away, resisting the urge to break his promise. “I thought you were her’s though, so I didn’t do anything. I didn’t think I’d see you again but then I showed up to the interview and there you were. You recognized me too.”

“Yes,” Derek whispered, “Couldn’t forget you. Ever. Wanted to be yours from the first night.”

“That’s not what you said though,” Stiles smiled at the memory. “You waited until Cora left and you slammed my ass up against the wall and demanded to know why I was following you, what I wanted.”

_You want money? You want me to drop a case? Who the fuck sent you?_

“You pushed me off,” Derek smiled, his eyes closed, long lashes pressed to the top of his cheeks.

_Nobody fucking sent me, asshole!_

“Damn near broke a wrist doing it, you fucking wall of muscle,” he grinned.

“Stiles…” Derek looked up at him, his eyes wide.

“You said you’d hire me because Cora would kill you if you didn’t,” Stiles said, “You said nothing would happen, threatened me if I ever talked about the club, as if I would.”

“I apologized for that.”

“I know you did. How long before you apologized? Two months, three?”

“I needed you.”

“I know you did.” Stiles said, “Because you broke everyone one of your rules. No sex, no sex at work… you needed this and…”

“And you give me what I need,” Derek said in a small, choked voice.

“Yeah,” Stiles whispered, “And I always will.”

Derek collapsed up against the desk, pressing his lips into Stiles’ thigh to muffle the moan as he came, shaking violently. Stiles pushed his fingers through his soft black hair and massaged Derek’s scalp, blinking back his tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody called this fic Fluffy BDSM and it kind of is. I just wanted to make a nice D/s relationship that wasn't borderline abusive. 
> 
> I hope you liked the back story here and the lawyer parts weren't too painful. Comments are always appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

He left just after lunch, claiming that his sandwich gave him indigestion. Derek frowned but let him go without complaint. He had seen Stiles eat two cheese burgers and half an anchovy pizza in less than thirty minutes but he’d earned some personal time. Derek had kept him up too late, made him rise too early. Needing him this much, even for something as simple as focusing on his work, embarrassed Derek but there was no help for it, at least none that he could find.

Thankfully, Boyd called about an hour after Stiles left. Nothing like organized crime to distract from being in love with his assistant.

“Is this line secure?”

“As far as I know, Captain,” Derek said, “You gave me the phone after all. Would you prefer to meet in person?”

“Public Library. Downtown. Douglas Adams. Half an Hour.” Boyd said and hung up.

The library was a few blocks away from the D.A’s office. Derek walked, stopping at several coffee shops and cutesy boutiques to see if he was being followed. Tails weren’t ever obvious to Derek but he thought he managed to ditch the man with the headphones by cutting through the antiques shop. He made it to the library without recognizing anyone and slipped up to the third floor, Science Fiction, by the fire escape.

He sat down at a small study carrel where Captain Boyd was thumbing through a worn copy of _The Hitch Hiker’s Guide To The Galaxy_.

“Good news?” he asked.

“Potentially,”  Boyd turned another page  without looking at Derek. “My guy says they’re getting a shipment in tonight from Juarez. Aconite.”

“Wolfsbane? Isn’t that-?”

“Poison, yes. But cut with some cold meds and you trade off half the mortality rate for what I’m told is an amazing high,” Boyd said.

“Smuggling’s good for ten years at least,” Derek said. “If I can connect a death to Argent’s product I can get him for manslaughter at least.”

“With the Calaveras you might not need manslaughter but I don’t think we can tie it to Gerard. His daughter will be handling the trade.”

“Kate,” Derek said with a hard swallow. “She’s out of the hospital then?”

Boyd nodded, “For over a month now. I’m surprised your boy didn’t tell you.”

Derek wasn’t. Stiles would lie about anything if he thought it would keep Derek safe. Derek was his boy, not the other way around. He swallowed the correction and tried to focus. “Kate and the Calaveras. Is he trying for a massacre?”

Boyd shrugged. “My guy says Gerard is pissed at Kate for winding up in the hospital. Wants to teach her a lesson.”

“I thought the hospital was the lesson,” Derek said.

“The lesson isn’t ‘Don’t Piss Off Our Enemies.” Boyd turned another page. “It’s that ‘Argents don’t lose.’ Either Kate or the Calaveras will learn it before the night’s over.”

“When is all this going down?”

“Two days, unless Argent gets cold feet again,” Boyd said, “My guy says they’ve moved it twice because of Kate’s squabbling… she’s scared of something.”

“Your guy going to get any proof?” Derek wondered. Intrigue fansinated him as much as the next man, and there was a certain vindictive joy in hearing that Kate Argent was nervous, but it didn’t mean anything unless something was written down, unless they had witnesses, unless they could prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the money was coming back to Gerard and he’d gained it illegally.

Boyd frowned. He wasn’t a man who betrayed much emotion. Derek had worked closely with him on the Argent case for over a year and he still second guessed himself about what a particular eyebrow twitch or the quirk of an otherwise professional smile actually meant but he could at least tell when the youngest police captain in the city was annoyed. “My undercovers are under an incredible amount of pressure. They are risking their lives to bring these criminals to justice-”

“I understand-”

“Do you?” Boyd asked, finally closing _The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy_ and staring Derek in the face. “Because it’s not your life on the line, Mr. Hale. Last undercover that got too cocky on a case like this was fished out of a sewage drain and the D.A’s office botched it up. Kate Argent walked.”

Derek shifted uncomfortably. He remembered that case far too well. It was almost six years ago, one of his cases with the D.A’s office and he had wanted to win so badly. He nearly put himself in the hospital trying, drove nearly everyone involved to their breaking point and had to take a three months sabbatical when he failed. He didn’t know, honestly, if the jury had been bought, the evidence tampered with, or if he just looked to manic for the jury to buy it. All he knew was Kate Argent walked out of the courtroom as a free woman, her blood red lips stretched into a wide smile, hazel eyes resting on him in victory.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Boyd said, without a trace of pity, “But I’m not putting my guy’s life on the line to see it fall through again. I’m not losing everything we’ve gained based on a hunch, not unless we’re sure we can make it stick. Can we make it stick?”

Derek said nothing. Boyd stood up, tucking the book under his arm. “You’ll get what you get,” he said, “Keep your phone on.”

He watched the broad shouldered man walk away, feeling like a chastised school boy, and waited another fifteen minutes before getting up himself. He took the elevator, knowing that Boyd preferred the stairs, and went out the front door. He took a moment to dig his sunglasses out of his breast pocket and noticed a hunched figure sitting on the steps, with a black hoodie pulled up over her head.

“Cora?” he asked, stepped forward.

She couldn’t hear him. The screaming music in her ear buds was audible from even a few feet away. Derek patted her gently on the shoulder and she jumped.

“Derek-“ she blinked as she recognized her brother, “Fuck, what are you doing here?”

Derek didn’t answer, too distracted by his sister’s shaking hands. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she fumbled in the pocket of her hoodie and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. There were four inside and she pulled one out, dropping it once before managing to get it in her mouth.

 _Kate Argent’s out of the hospital,_ Derek remembered with a soft swallow. He sat down next to his sister and took the lighter out of her hands before she hurt herself. Cora was Stiles’ age. She shouldn’t have to shake like this whenever a bad memory came rushing out of her childhood. “What happened?” he asked in a quiet voice as he lit the cigarette for her.

Cora took a deep drag and let the smoke flow out of her nostrils. On better days, she told Derek she liked to pretend she was a dragon. Days like today, he wondered if she had to. “She was on the subway,” Cora admitted. She never referred to Kate by name. In “Southbound, G train, when I was trying to go to work. She didn’t see me but… fuck, I got scared.”

Derek put his arm around her, squeezing her shoulders in silent sympathy. “I got off at the next stop and threw the fuck up.” He could hear the tears in her voice but knew enough not to look, “That was… like thirteen cigarettes ago…”

“Cora,” he forced himself to breath before continuing. “Call me if this happens, okay? Please…”

“It’s not supposed to fucking happen anymore,” she groused, “The hell is the point of fucking twenty years of therapy and a damn pill every morning if she can turn me into a fucking kindergartener any time I fucking see her. Goddamn it…” she devolved into a string of cursing, squeezing her eyes shut and smoking like she had a grudge against the cigarette.

Cora had been six years old when their parents were murdered. The police had believed the fire was simply an accident until they found her, crouched in the basement and sobbing about a mean lady with a gun. Talia Hale had been preparing to testify against the Argents. The police showed Cora pictures and she recognized Kate Argent instantly, crying and hiding her face against Derek’s chest. She was seven when she testified against Kate Argent but the lawyers had argued she was too young to remember properly, that her tiny mind had invented the mean lady as a way to cope with the loss of her parents. A little girl, they reasoned, had to have someone to blame, a monster rather than the cruel hand of fate. Kate Argent had walked without so much as a jury trial and Derek, seventeen years old and suddenly responsible for keeping his family together, vowed never to let it happen again.

And then he let it. Again and again and again. Stiles, and even Cora herself, would remind him that he put dozens of criminals away and he had nothing to be ashamed of, but whenever it counted, when it was an Argent sitting behind the table, he failed. No matter how many others he stopped, he couldn’t spare his own sister from seeing her parents’ killer on the street.

“You’re gonna be okay…” he murmured, mostly because it’s what Stiles would have said to him. Cora arched her eyebrow at him and continued smoking without a word. She was okay, most of the time. She didn’t need a Stiles to hold her hand every step of the way like Derek did. She held down a job and lived her life but all it took was one news story at the wrong time, or a terrible face in the crowd and she was seven years old again. And he couldn’t protect her.

Derek sighed, staring back at Cora’s sha.king hands. “Come on,” he said, pulling her up with him. “You need to eat something.”

She let him guide her without a word, still shaking. There were a few fast food places that Cora favored nearby. He’d have preferred if she got something vaguely resembling a vegetable inside of her but Cora needed to actually eat what was in front of her. They settled on a cheese burger and a strawberry milk shake which he made her eat in front of him after confiscating her cigarettes.

“You’re coming back to work with me,” he said. “No arguments.”

She nodded, still too quiet, nervously sipping on her shake. Derek sighed. A good brother would take her home instead, either to his place or the studio Cora insisted on paying for herself. He needed to get back to work though. Yukimura would want to be updated about the case, what little there was to share. If Stiles had been there, he could have taken Cora home and watched her. He wasn’t though, and Derek missed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its short and late


	5. Chapter 5

 

Stiles leaned up against the door, panting. The ten story walk up, for once, couldn’t be blamed. He had been on the verge of hyperventilating since he stepped onto the train. Now that he was alone again, he could properly indulge in the panic rising from the pit of his stomach since lunch.

“Lydia?” he called in a shaky voice, “You home?”

“In the bathroom,” she answered. Stiles swallowed. His roommate could usually be counted on to help in these matters. He gave himself a few more gulps of air before crawling across the living room and leaning against the bathroom door.

“I think I’m in love with Derek,” he said, like ripping off a band aid.

He toppled backward as the door swung open. Lydia stood over him, scowling with her make up half on. “Welcome to 2013,” she said, “You didn’t tell him, did you?’

“No!” He groaned. He covered his face with his palms. “I’m not stupid! I just- I freaked out, okay? Just a little.”

She tsked softly and pulled him to a sitting position before returning to the mirror. “Start from the beginning,” she said, “What happened?”

Stiles took a deep breath. “We were eating lunch. Quizno’s, right? He’s going over case files with one of those little clicky pens with like five different colors of ink and I’m watching him and I just realized… it’s my pen. He stole my pen.”

“Are you serious?” She says, glaring at him through the mirror.

“I don’t loan those pens, Lydia,” he said. “So he either grabbed it from my desk or I left it at his place and he just kept it. And then I thought it was okay because I could just use it when I was over at his house again. And I love him.”

“You got all this from a pen?”

“Yes!” He began to play with the threads of their green shag rug before mumbling, “And we also had a scene like… half an hour before that.”

Lydia dropped her mascara. “What!” she kicked him hard with a black pump. “In the middle of the day?! At the D.A’s office?!”

“He needed it!” Stiles squawked. “Lydia! Stop kicking! What was I supposed to do?!”

“Get your boyfriend into some damned therapy and not risk being charged with indecent exposure!” She snapped, “Not to mention losing your job! I cannot afford this place on my own, you jackass!”

“I’m sorry!” he raised his hands in surrender. “It was a stupid risk to take but nothing happened.”

“Yet,” she wrinkled her nose and turned back to the mirror. He gave her a minute to finish her mascara and lipstick before continuing.

“It won’t happen again,” he said, “I promise.”

She sniffed. “Like you promised you weren’t gonna get involved with your boss in the first place? Or that you’d never fuck in the office? Come on, Stiles, your impulse control isn’t great when you’re not in love with someone.”

He opened his mouth to argue but it was a fair point. If Derek was willing, Stiles was on board. Denying him anything at this point was not an option.

“I noticed you didn’t come home last night,” Lydia said as she put the final touches on her outfit, “I’m guessing he needed you.”

Stiles nodded grimly. “I don’t suppose you could talk me out of it?”

“Not really in the habit of talking people out of how they feel.”

“Come on!” He whined, “You got me out of love with you!”

“That was infatuation, sweetie,” she ruffled his hair with a perfectly manicured nail, “and I doubt Derek’s going to tell you he’s actually a woman.”

“Fair,” he said.

“Come on,” she said, “Get off the floor and change. You’ll ruin that suit.”

Stiles nodded and obeyed. It really was a waste how vanilla Lydia was in the bedroom, with a domme voice like that. He’d be more comfortable in  jeans and a t-shirt anyway. There was no way he could face going back to work today. He selected a clean Hulk tee from his close and pulled on stained batman pajamas.

Lydia raised an eyebrow when he returned to the kitchen. “Just giving up today, are we?” she said, “Want some tea?”

“No, thanks,” he said, curling up on the couch to watch her putter around the kitchen. “You working tonight?”

“Mystery shopping gig in half an hour, then class.” She said, sitting down next to him with her steaming mug of Earl Grey. Stiles grimaced at the complete lack of sugar but she just regarded him carefully as she sipped. He hated silence with Lydia, knowing that she saw each and every little thing he tried to hide.

“How much does that pull down?” he asked.

“Fifty bucks for an hour’s work and you’d be terrible at it,” she said, “Nice deflection by the way.”

“Ugh,” he glared at her, “What the hell am I supposed to do? I’m in love with my stupid boss.”

“The same stupid boss you’ve been sleeping with practically since you got the job?” Lydia said. “Well, it can’t get worse at least. Unless you tell him.”

“Telling him is not an option,” Stiles agreed.

“And why is that?”

“Because he’s Derek Hale, the most closed off person I have ever met in my life,” Stiles groaned, “Because the first person who showed even a modicum of interest in him burned his house down and he’s incredibly commitment phobic. And even if he wasn’t, he’d have to fire me because it’s a violation of work place protocol.”

“And your dumb ass secretly wants to do all that stupid couple shit with him.” Lydia said, “Dinner with the parents, Sunday brunch, holding hands at the movies… no keeping it secret like when you were just tying him up when he got too stressed.”

Stiles wanted to argue. He wasn’t boring like Scott, who tried to brag that sometimes Kira was on top for missionary with the lights off. He’d get bored with just handholding and waffles but… add some handcuffs and breath play and it would be nice with Derek. It was nice with Derek now, just sitting at the office and watching him eat or hearing him beg for release. If he could kiss him in public too…

Stiles shook his head. That scenario wasn’t happening, not without a time machine.  To say nothing of his parents who knew Derek was his boss and nothing else. Dad had barely managed the transition. In his more self loathing moments, Stiles wondered if his father accepted his homosexuality so readily because he still thought of Stiles as a girl. Add dating his 35 year old boss to the mix and… there wasn’t any coming back from that. Dad would shoot him, or Derek, or just tell him to get out and not come back. Stiles wasn’t sure which option was worse.

Lydia put her hand on his closed fist. He looked up, biting his lip in case he’d been babbling everything he was thinking all over the room. “So what are we gonna do about this?” She asked. Stiles appreciated the kindness in her voice, the plural as if she was in this situation with him.

He chuckled, “You know normal people would be happy about falling in love with somebody, not treating it like a natural disaster.”

Lydia snorted, leaning back on the  couch. “You’d never be normal people, whatever alternate universe you ended up in. I don’t care about normal people.” She sipped slowly on her tea, “so what are we going to do?”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

“First of all, you need to stop having sex with him,” Lydia said.

“Just like that?” Stiles pouted.

“Why not? You started fucking on a whim and we both know the chemical release after orgasm can simulate emotions commonly associated with love.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Why, Miss Martin, you’re a poet!”

“You’re not gonna keep your job if you’re thinking with your nether bits,” Lydia snapped, “Stop sticking it in your boss, Stiles, before you ruin your own life.”

“But… if he needs-”

“Please tell me you don’t just fuck him because he needs it,” she said, “We both know that’s bullshit and more than a little rapey.”

“Please don’t give me the consent talk. Everybody wants to, any one can stop it… come on, Lydia, what kind of dom do you think I am?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” she said, taking a prim sip of tea and crossing her legs behind each other. Stiles fought the urge to mess with her hair. “I’d suggest you stop tying him up and beating him as well, if I thought it would do any good.”

“No.” Stiles said in a flat voice, “I’m not just dropping him without a word. He needs that… I think he needs it more than he actually needs an assistant,” he had never said those words out loud before, “And I’m a pretty damned awesome assistant,” he added, desperate for some levity. He didn’t want to look at Lydia and see judgment in her eyes or, worse, pity, “which is why I’m not going to send him back to the clubs and hope nobody tries to take advantage of him.”

“And that’s why I’m not suggesting it,” Lydia said, “but I do think you should look for a different job in the meantime.”

“I don’t want a different job!” He snapped, “The whole point of not… feeling this way any more was that I get to keep my job! You know, half of the rent… groceries… ring a bell?”

She rolled her eyes so hard he thought they would pop out of her head. “Look, Stiles, the job is as good as gone. It was tenuous to begin with and I am honestly surprised you’ve lasted this long without getting caught. You love Derek and maybe no sex will help tone it down but you’re still going to see him and take care of him. He’s still gonna borrow your damned pens and eventually it’s going to get the better of you. So either he’s going to be on board with it or he’s not, or you’re going to make yourself sick lying about it and quit anyway. Whatever happens, the job is over. Your choice here is whether you want to lose him too or keep him.”

Stiles took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to keep Derek… his life didn’t work out that well. Lydia was right though.

She kept talking, not waiting for answer. “And whatever happens with that, you’re still going to need rent money, and T money, and something to do when you’re not spanking him. So look for a different job before you need one.”

Stiles nodded. His stomach turned over on itself as she stood and straightened out her skirt.

“Speaking of work, I need to go to mine.” She picked up her purse from the kitchen table and walked to the door, high heels still managing to click on the carpet. One of the many beautiful things about Lydia was that she could be ready to go in less than thirty minutes. Once she was ready to go, she was gone. “Take a nap too,” she added, hanging her head out the door, “You look exhausted.”

She closed the door, locking it behind her. He sighed, suddenly wanting that cup of tea. He made it, non caffeinated because he did need some sleep to face Derek again, and added three spoons of sugar before heading to his room. He made it through half of Justice League: Doom before falling asleep.

It was dark when his phone woke him. Derek. Stiles squinted at the name for two vibrations. He could hit ignore, its not like Derek would be mad at him. Stiles bit his lip, staring at the name. He had missed half a day of work. He answered.

“Hey Derek.”

“Hi,” his voice sounded scratchy, almost too quiet. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” Stiles said, suddenly remembering his excuse for leaving, “I’ll be in tomorrow. Don’t worry.”

“Good. I need you,” Derek said, “for the deposition,” he added quickly. Stiles smiled into the phone.

“I’ll be there. Anything else happen?”

“No,” Derek said after a long pause, “Nothing that can’t wait until morning. Get some rest, Stiles.”

“Okay. Good night.”

“Good night,” and Derek hung up.

Stiles pressed a small kiss into the screen and fell back to sleep in its incandescent glow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Quick updates! Do not get used to it.
> 
> I think this chapter went so quick because I love me some Lydia Martin. Hopefully I did her justice. 
> 
> Quick Note: Stiles' fears about losing his father are pretty much unfounded. The Sheriff loves his son and the only problem he had with the transition was the amount of hospital time involved. Basically any is enough to freak him out. 
> 
> Next Chapter: Stiles and Derek are reunited for the Daehler deposition! Intrigue!


	6. Chapter 6

Matt Daehler glanced between his lawyer, Derek and Stiles through narrowed eyes. He reminded Derek of a lab rat he’d seen once visiting colleges, albeit a particularly guilty looking one. He looked like the kind who would chew its own foot off to escape from the cage. Derek could use that.

Jennifer Blake looked livid. Her entire face was lines and acute angles of disapproval. She had made a big show of pulling out her recording device  to catch any inappropriate questions, even though Derek had the D.A’s official equipment and Stiles was technically the stenographer. However much Derek would have enjoyed slamming Daehler’s rat face into the table, he’d tried cops for  less. Legal intimidation would get him to talk anyway.

Derek forced his chapped lips into a small, not quiet smug, smile and asked if Daehler needed anything before they began. He said no but it sounded a lot like fuck you.

“Please state your full name for the record,” Stiles said in a monotone.

“Matthew Harold Daehler,” Daehler said with a roll of his eyes.

A few more preliminary questions and Derek took over. It was fairly standard stuff. Where were you on the day of arrest? What were you doing at the school? Are you sure about that because the police officer that pulled you over for speeding said you had illegal drugs and a loaded hand gun on the front seat?

“Objection!” Jennifer Blake squawked.

“This isn’t a court room, Miss Blake,” Derek said, “what exactly is the matter?”

He saw Stiles suppress a small grin at the way she blushed. “I- leading the witness! Matt, you don’t have to answer that.”

“You don’t actually,” Derek conceded, “We know you had illegal drugs and a gun on your front seat. We plan to trot them out during the trial, along with Officer Gomez’s testimony and his partner’s both of whom will confirm you had more illegal drugs and weapons in your trunk and that you ran when they attempted to arrest you. Towards a school full of kids. To be honest, this whole deposition is a courtesy. We’ve got more than enough to put you a way for twenty years or more. This is your third strike, Mr. Daehler, and there’s not a jury in the world who’ll let you walk away from endangering their kids.”

He paused, never breaking eye contact with Daehler, to let the point sink in. Jennifer Blake sputtered ineffectually in the background. Daehler glared back at him. Derek just waited. This wasn’t a strong man, not a man who could survive prison unless he made himself useful to the right people. He’d been useful to Gerard but that was an impossibility now. He could be useful to Derek and save himself at the same time. All Derek needed was a final push to make him realize that.

“We can offer you a deal, in exchange for testimony against Gerard Argent. We can get you off with time served, put you in witness protection if need be.” He didn’t bother lowering his voice. Jennifer Blake had gone silent. He could practically hear her brain whirring and he knew Daehler could too. Maybe it was unethical to put him in that position, even a scumbag like Daehler, but, after a night of watching his sister trace the scars on her arms with shaking fingers, Derek wanted to be done. He wanted Gerard Argent in prison for the rest of his miserable life, the Argent family ruined and destroyed just the way his was. Matt Daehler was the best and quickest chance he had of that.

The rat, and now it was nearly impossible to think of him as anything else, curled his lip and turned to his lawyer. “Get out.”

“Mr. Daehler, I urge you not to believe this,” she said and for once it sounded rehearsed, “They are trying to trap you into a confession. You need me here.”

“I said get out,” Daehler repeated. Derek watched the argument unfold, keeping his face impassive. The argument went quickly. Derek could say one thing for Daehler; the rat man was determined. He chanced a glance at Stiles. His assistant was dutifully typing the vehement exchange between the accused and his lawyer. Good instincts, not just for evidence but to let Daehler know that the trail was by no means off the table. He didn’t meet Derek’s eyes, probably too engrossed by the task at hand, but Derek wished he would. Just a quick amber glance of approval to confirm everything was going the way it should. He missed Stiles last night and wished, not for the first time, that theirs was the type of relationship that allowed him to come over without sex, just because Derek wanted to see him.

Daehler sent Blake packing with a scowl, the harsh click of heels on concrete and the promise that she would be back.

“Make sure the door is locked, please, Stiles,” Derek instructed. He went quickly, barely scraping his chair across the floor as he stood and returned with a nod of confirmation. Derek turned back to Daehler. He slumped down in his metal chair, legs stretched in the loose prison orange. He gave a thin smile, showing off blunt yellowed teeth that he doubtless thought was impressive.

“Talk to me about protection,” he said.

Derek sighed. “If your information leads to the conviction of Gerard Argent, your sentence will be dismissed.” He launched into a long list of promises, everything Yukimura had allowed to pass given the nature of Daehler’s crimes. They’d give him a new identity in a new city, a new job. This was Daehler’s chance to go straight, to free himself from the life of crime. Daehler’s blue eyes glazed over at that, as Derek had expected. He wanted freedom from punishment, not crime. Derek gave him about six months of witness protection before he went back to his old ways and lost all right to it. By then, he would be someone else’s problem. Problems like Matt Daehler existed everywhere. Derek would find two more once he got rid of this one.

“But,” he concluded, “That’s only if this information leads to a conviction. Do you have such information, Mr. Daehler?”

Daehler sniffed and said nothing. Derek leaned forward. “Tell me about Aconite.”

“The Wolf,” Daehler smirked and Derek fought the urge to punch him in the face. “The old man brought it around. It’s good stuff, gives you an edge.”

“The old man being Gerard Argent?”

“Who the fuck else are we talking about?” Daehler said.

Out of the corner of his eye, Derek saw Stiles lip curl ever so slightly. “Just clarifying,” he said, “Was anyone else with him, when he brought it around?”

He nodded. “Reyes and his daughter. She was using too, passed it around like a garden party.”

Derek frowned. None of that was any good to him. Kate Argent would never go against her father, not that Derek could stomach offering her anything close to the deals he’d made with Daehler. Erica Reyes was just as useless. She’d done a small stint for assault and had a twelve hour staring contest with Captain Boyd’s men when they picked her up in relation to some intimidation charges that were eventually dropped due to lack of evidence.

“Anyone else?” Derek asked.

“My boy, Jackson,” Daehler said, “But he’s in England or some shit now.”

“Jackson who?”

“Whitmore?” Daehler shrugged, “Something with a W?”

“Jackson Whitmore?” Derek repeated. “Judge Whitmore’s son?”

Stiles stopped typing, staring down at the words in front of him. His face was white and he closed his mouth quickly. Daehler shrugged again, oblivious.

“Maybe. Like I said he’s in England or whatever now? You going to England, Boss?”

“Argent’s your only supplier then?” Derek said with a quick glance at Stiles. They’d talk about this later.

“Shit, man, Argent owns half the coast. Nobody gets anything in here without his permission, not unless they got balls of steel. Old man’s got the cash and the guns to keep everything going the way it’s supposed to for a long time.”

Derek sighed. None of this was new information. The old man, Gerard Argent, controlled the criminal world of Beacon Hills, much of southern California. That was common knowledge. There was no proof though, beyond the word of thugs like Daehler. Argent’s guns and money went a very long way towards making sure that those thugs kept their mouths shut. “Where does the money go?” he tried again. “I need something written down to link the Argents to the drug trade.”

The deposition- really more of an interrogation now- seemed to last hours. Daehler talked, Derek got the feeling that he got off on the sound of his own voice, but only in posturing and snide comments. They had to drag any slip of pertinent information out of him. Derek knew Stiles was keeping a long mental list of leads to follow, snippets that Daehler didn’t realize were important. Finally, Jennifer Blake swung open the door with a prison guard, glaring with an air of triumph. The guard said their time was up and Derek acquiesced.

He leaned over to the guard on his way out, “I want him on twenty four hour watch.”

The guard nodded and showed them to the door. Jennifer Blake stood over her client and for a moment, Derek recognized her look. She looked like Kate Argent.

The door closed behind them and Stiles immediately scrambled in his pocket for his smart phone. “Oh crap,” he muttered, “oh crap, oh crap, oh crap.”

“What?” Derek stared at him.

“Jackson Whitmore,” Stiles said, his hand pressed up against Derek’s back as he furiously dialed with the other. He pushed Derek down the hall. “Come on, we can’t talk about this here.”

He couldn’t possibly have meant to find an old bruise there. It was an accident even as Derek shivered beneath his touch. “What about him?”

“I know him.” Stiles said through the corner of his mouth. He shoved the phone between his ear and his shoulder, “Come on, Lydia, pick up.”

“You’re friends with Jackson Whitmore?” Derek said. He had been in the same room as Judge Whitmore’s eldest once, during the Governor’s Christmas part which Yukimura had promised him would be good for his career. Jackson was roughly Stiles’ age and an asshole if Derek was any judge.

Stiles made a face like Derek had just suggested skinny dipping in a sewage plant, “No. We were never friends. He broke my best friend’s heart.” He stopped, waiting.

“This is Lydia Martin,” a crisp feminine voice broke through the city traffic. “I’m away from the phone right now. Please leave a message after the tone and I will get back to you as soon as I can.”

Stiles groaned. “Lydia! Call me! Text me! It’s important! Like, literally important and mandatory that you call me immediately! Now!” He hung up. “Fuck!”

“Calm down,” Derek said, glancing around. “Let’s get back to the office.”

“Yeah,” He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Fine.”

They rode the subway. Stiles texted furiously with no regard for the safety rails. Derek forced him to sit down. He raced through the lobby, muttering impatiently at security and the wait in the elevator. Once they reached Derek’s floor, Stiles was dialing another number.

“Hey!” Another voice, male this time, answered.

“Scott!” Stiles said, almost gleeful with his triumph. “Weird question, you know what happened to Jackson Whitmore after college? I gotta track him down for-”

“You reached Scott. Leave a message after the beep.” The recording seemed barely able to control its giggles. Stiles swore.

“I hate that stupid voice mail trick, you unimaginable tool! I don’t care if I taught you, it’s fucking juvenile, Scott! You are going to be a Doctor! Call me. Now!”

He hung up the phone violently, which, on a smart phone meant poking the screen with a scowl. He sat and hunched over, waiting for the Wi-Fi to connect.

“Stiles,” Derek said, “how do you know Jackson Whitmore?”

“I told you.”

“You told me he broke your best friend’s heart,” Derek said, “Lydia, I assume.”

“Yeah.” Stiles didn’t look up, “They started dating just after she started to pass in college. Took it painfully slow, until he convinced Lydia he loved her.”

“Lydia didn’t tell him she was trans?”

“She told him,” Stiles snorted. He glanced up at Derek nervous glance and softened a little. “No, nothing violent, thank god. He was never quite that breed of asshole at least but he was a fetishist. Got mad when she didn’t want triple Ds or collagen lips. Tried to blackmail her into topping him… awful, triggering fucking shit.”

He paused, biting his lips. “I shouldn’t have told you that. Don’t know why I told you that.”

Derek frowned. “You’re a forthcoming person, Stiles. It’s not a bad thing.”

Stiles shrugged, “No, just… she’s a private person and I shoulda kept my mouth shut. It’s not like you’re gonna meet her ever but still…”

Derek’s stomach curled over uncomfortably. “I wouldn’t have said anything,” he muttered, and then said, blinking away the sudden sadness for more pressing matters. “What happened to Jackson?”

“He dumped her,” Stiles admitted, “Lydia cried for a week but she’s better off in the long run. Last I heard he was taking a sabbatical from law school or some shit. That was about… four? Three years ago?”

“And somewhere along the line he got mixed up with Matt Daehler,” Derek said.

“Maybe,” Stiles was back on his phone, tapping in the password to his tablet with his other hand. “Daehler isn’t exactly on top of his clientele, apparently.”

“You think Whitmore’s kid is an addict?”

“Jackson was an enormous tool but he had a lot of pressure on him,” Stiles said. “Wouldn’t be the first time a kid used drugs to deal with Daddy’s hopes and dreams.”

“And Whitmore has enough power to keep his kid out of the court system and into rehab,” Derek said.

“Daehler said he was in the U.K, right?” Stiles said, glancing up at Derek with bright eyes, “Look at this?”

Derek sat down on the couch next to Stiles, leaning over his shoulder to read the small text. “This is Jackson’s twitter feed,” Stiles explained, pointing to a white kid who looked very angry at his four head. “Hasn’t been updated for over a month. Last post: “Where the fuck is my car @heathrowairport? #getittogether #smfh.”

“What does that mean?”

“Shaking my fucking head,” Stiles translated. He patted Derek’s hair affectionately, “You’re so old.” Then he stood, suddenly flustered. “So Daehler’s account checks out, or at least London is Jackson’s cover story for rehab... could we get him to testify with Daehler?”

Derek frowned. The sudden loss of contact, Stiles’ touch disappearing as soon as it came, left him feeling cold and incomplete. The younger man was practically gnawing at his lower lip. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” Stiles snapped, the lie reverberating through the room like a heavy stone tossed into a lake, “Focus.” His voice had a hint of domination in it. Derek closed his eyes in an effort to obey.

“I doubt it,” he said, “Whitmore’s obviously taken pains to hide his son’s criminal activities and Jackson himself doesn’t seem the type to risk his inheritance by pissing the old man off, especially if he can’t get anything out of it.”

Stiles snorted, “Got that right.”

“Still, it’s the best information we’ve gotten from Daehler so far,” Derek said. “We need to follow up on it. If Jackson’s willing to testify, even anonymously, there’s less reasonable doubt for the jury to focus on. Do you think you can get him to do it?”

“Me? No,” Stiles shook his head, “Lydia? Maybe.”

“You said he dumped her.”

“Because she stopped taking his bullshit. He expected her to come crawling back to him after a couple weeks but she didn’t,” There was a note of pride in his voice, “Nobody stops being in love with Lydia Martin, it just switches form.”

Derek stayed silent. He didn’t know what to do with that, the way Stiles spoke as if from personal experience.

“She might be able to get the Right Honorable Judge on our side too,” Stiles said, “Far as I know, he thinks she’s cis. If he wants to salvage Jackson’s all American republican future, she’s the key to doing that.”

“And Lydia would be okay with that?”

Stiles sighed. “She’d hate it, probably hate me for suggesting it, but she’d do it if she thought it would work. We might have to appeal to her better nature. Possibly her wallet.” He swallowed hard and stared at his shoes, “I just don’t want her hurt again.”

“Whatever you think is best,” Derek said, “I trust you on this.”

Stiles glanced up at him. His eyes were soft, only for a moment before looking down at his phone again. “We should tell Yukimura,” he said.

“Yes, Stiles,” Derek said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE the next one will have sex or a scene in it...


	7. Chapter 7

 

By the time Lydia called him back, Stiles was half way through the warrant paper work on Jackson Whittemore. How could he possibly have believed the two people he trusted most in the world could ever take the place of google and paper work?

“You filled up my voicemail,” Lydia said. “I was at work.”

“So was I,” Stiles said. The sun had set a while ago and Derek had gone out for some air, leaving poor abused Stiles to paperwork and his Ipod. He pushed his pen to the side of his mouth so he could talk like a normal person. “You know what happened to Jackson Whittemore?”

She took a hard breath and said, in a quick, clipped voice, “I know I haven’t seen that talking bit of guano for years. Why?”

“He uh…” Why hadn’t he rehearsed this? He used to write out scripts for himself to be able to talk to Lydia… why had he abandoned that? “He came up at work today.”

“Came up how?”

“Daehler named him. As a witness.”

“That’s none of my business,” Lydia said.

“He can corroborate Daehler’s story,” Stiles said, “We need to track him down.”

“It has nothing to do with me,” Lydia said. “I couldn’t contact him if I wanted to, you know that.”

“Lydia-”

“I’m getting on the subway, Stiles. We’ll talk at home.”

“Lydia-” the click of her phone cut him off. He put his back down on the table and cracked his neck.

“What did she say?” Derek said. Stiles jumped.

“Jesus! How the hell are you so quiet?”

“Sorry,” Derek said. He stepped around to the front of Stiles’ desk. He held to Styrofoam cups. “I brought you coffee.”

“You didn’t have to,” Stiles said, but took his anyway. Derek had taken off his suit jacket and he leaned against his own desk, watching Stiles take a drink. The coffee was mostly cream and sugar, just the way Stiles liked it. He smirked. “You trying to take my job, Mr. Hale?”

Derek chuckled. “What did Lydia Martin say?”

“Nothing you’re gonna like,” Stiles told him, “She says it’s got nothing to do with her and she’s right… but she’s also our best bet for getting at Jackson.”

“Yukimura said she’d talk to Judge Whittemore but from a legal stand point she can’t force him to bring Jackson over, not without an expedition order.”

Stiles nodded. “Lydia will come around. It’s a long shot anyway.” He leaned back, rubbing his temples. “If she can get a hold of Jackson and if she can convince him to testify… maybe then we have a case.”

“We do,” Derek said, “Enough that Boyd might give me some of his under covers. Between them, Daehler and Jackson… we can put him away.”

Stiles glanced up. Derek sounded way more optimistic than he was comfortable with. His eyes were fixed on the wall of diplomas and plaques for services to the city but he wasn’t looking at them. If Derek had his way, they’d still be in a box his closet. Stiles had hung them up, argued that they gave people a reason to trust him, that Derek was amazing and he shouldn’t hide that.

“We should go,” he said, his decision hitting him like a dodge ball in the face. He stood, pushing the pages away. Derek blinked.

“We’re not gonna get anything done tonight,” Stiles said. He packed up his tablet in its sleek black case a shoved it into his messenger bag.  “Let’s go back to my place.”

Derek tilted his head, not surprisingly. In all the time they’d been… whatever they were, Stiles had never let Derek see his apartment. That was one of his rules; a hard rule to keep their arrangement from getting to emotionally complicated.

That had worked out really well.

“You think Lydia will be there?” he asked. Sure, make it about the case, that would be fine.

Stiles shrugged, “You coming?”

Derek nodded. He followed him out the door and down onto the street where Stiles walked purposefully toward the subway station.

“I could call for a car,” Derek said. Stiles snorted.

“It won’t kill you to take a public transportation for once. Mingle with common people, boss man.”

“The subway is dangerous,” Derek said with a frown. He followed Stiles anyway, his hands in his pockets.

“You’re a big strong man, Derek,” Stiles said, patting his arm as they rolled down the escalator. Derek gasped at the familiar contact, so quiet it was almost imperceptible to even Stiles. “You can protect us.”

Derek smiled, like a kid being praised by a particularly hard assed teacher. Stiles loved the reactions he was able to get from Derek, the little sighs and groans, the shudders against him as they lay in bed together, but nothing more than these secret, half embarrassed smiles. Stiles would have done just about anything for one of those smiles. His ego wanted to telling that no one else in the world could make Derek smile like that, could make him moan the way he did for Stiles. He didn’t have anything to compare it to, of course. He’d never seen Derek with anyone else before. Stiles would probably lose his mind if he did. Whether another dom, another person, could get Derek to smile like that, to make all those beautiful sounds and move in that perfect, unintentional way of his; that could be debated. Stiles was certain that no other person on the planet deserved the opportunity to make Derek do those things.

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice broke him out of the revelry in his head. The older man pointed to a sign above them. “This is your stop, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“I-” Derek flushed, “I looked it up once.”

Stiles grinned, imagining his boss charting how long it took to get from one apartment to the other. He stood and led Derek off the train. They moved in silence, through the dark blocks separating Stiles’ building from the station. Derek glanced around nervously, certain something was going to leap out and jump them. Man, what did they tell rich kids about poor people? Whatever it was, adding in Derek’s reoccurring neurosis made him jumpier than a grasshopper. Stiles slid the key into the lock and they stepped into the foyer.

Derek stared at the ceiling with a grimace usually reserved for mountains of paperwork he pawned off on Stiles anyway. “Do you ever think about moving?” he asked.

“What? No, I got rent control here,” Stiles said, starting up the staircase.

 “I could get you a better apartment,” Derek said, still staring at the ceiling. “One without water damage, or what I believe to be black mold… I would seriously pay for you to never come back to this shit hole.”

“I like this shit hole, butt face,” Stiles grinned. They reached the door and Stiles pushed it open. “Lydia?” he called carefully to the abyss of darkness.

There was no answer. Carefully, Stiles turned on all the lights and went to each of the rooms, knocking before entering. She wasn’t home yet.

Derek stood in the living room, shifting his weight from one leg to another. “Should I go?” He asked when Stiles returned without Lydia.

“No.” He bit his lip. Now confronted with the actual reality of his decision, he had no idea what to say. He sat down on the back of the couch. “How are you feeling?” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

“Fine.” Derek looked like he was about to bolt.

“How are you feeling about us?” Stiles said, stretching out each word for reasons he couldn’t entirely understand.

“Fine,” He said again. He slouched against the door. Any lower and he would have been curled up into a ball. He looked up, eyes suddenly worried, “How do you feel about us?”

“I-” he wanted to say fine and let it drop, like he was just checking in, “I think we should stop… no sex, no scenes, just work,” he let it stumble out in a single breath, not sure if he could say it otherwise.

Derek’s face fell. He stared down at the floor. “Alright,” He managed only a choked whisper and Stiles fought not to be hurt by the speed of his acquiesce. Derek always agreed with him, always respected his opinion immediately. Stiles closed his eyes tightly and inhaled. “Did I do something wrong?”

Stiles’ eyes popped open. “No! No, you didn’t do anything wrong!” He was shouting, not caring about paper thin walls or neighbor, because Derek could not be allowed to think that. “You’re perfect! You’re-” He swallowed, “I’m in love with you.”

Derek gaped. Stiles closed his eyes again, blushing hard. “I’m sorry. I know we work together and we’re not… it’s supposed to just be sex. It was just sex but then I realized… I know you don’t feel the same way so I think we should just stop until I can-”

Derek’s lips pressed hard against his own. Stiles tried to pull back but Derek’s fingers clenched his hair, holding him there. Stiles could have broken free if he wanted to but… god help him, he didn’t want to. He let Derek’s tongue push passed his teeth and run over his mouth. Derek had never taken so much sexual initiative before.

He pulled back in a moment, leaning against his forehead against Stiles’. “Sorry…” he whispered, “I should have asked, I know, but… Stiles, I’m in love with you. I’ve loved you for years… god, since the first time you touched me. How did you not know?”

“I…” he leaned close against Derek’s shoulder, “Jesus, Derek.”

“Do you still want to-?” he asked.

“No,” Stiles shook his head. “God, no, Derek, I never wanted to but… I work for you. I either quit this or quit my job. I need my job, Derek.”

He nodded but didn’t release his hold on Stiles’ shoulder. “Couldn’t we just… keep going like we have been?”

“What? Just keep it a secret?” Derek nodded. “You think that will work?”

“Yes,” he said this up against Stiles’ neck, making him shiver.

“You think you can do that?”

“For you? I can do anything,” he murmured. Stiles felt his knees go weak. It was a good thing Derek held him so tightly or he would have fallen over.

“Okay,” he said, not bothering to keep his voice from shaking. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wanted them to talk to each other... so they're talking...
> 
> Seriously, I cannot blame you. This whole mis communication nonsense is sooooooo boring, I don't know how you stand it! Fortunately we've had our necessary angst and now Stiles can beat Derek with a.... baseball bat... sure... that's canon basically...
> 
> thank you for reading and please review.


	8. Chapter 8

“What the hell is wrong with you?” There must have been some evolutionary component to the way Derek’s eyes popped open at the sound of a feminine voice thick with irritation. Stiles had his hand on his chest, pushing himself up from where he’d fallen asleep on top of him.

“Lydia, hey,” he scrambled off Derek and into a sitting position, pushing his hair back. The red haired woman, Lydia, fixed him with a disgusted glare.

“Stiles,” she said in a clipped voice, “When I talk to you, do you hear words coming from my mouth, or just that tuba sound from Charlie Brown?”

“Lydia…”

“Because I could have sworn we discussed this: how you weren’t going to fuck your boss in our apartment? How you were going to stop fucking him all together? Were you there for that or am I hallucinating?”

“Lydia, we didn’t fuck, I swear,” Derek untangled his legs from Stiles’, trying not to smile at the high pitched string of excuses falling from his mouth. He stood, extending a hand to the young woman.

“Miss Martin, my name is Derek Hale,”

“I know who you are,” she said, somehow managing to look down her nose at him despite being a foot shorter than him in heels. “You owe me an obscene amount of money.”

Stiles put his hands in his face. “Lydia, please stop blackmailing my boyfriend.”

A warm feeling exploded in Derek’s chest. He was Stiles’ boyfriend.

“Blackmail is an ugly word, Stiles. Mr. Hale is going to pay me for services provided,” Lydia said, “My charge for speaking to exes and their fathers is highly unreasonable.”

Stiles stood up. “You talked to Jackson?”

She shook her head. “He’s still in Europe, smart one. I talked to his honorable father who agreed to meet me for lunch tomorrow because I was always such a good influence on his detestable progeny.” She shuddered.

“Holy crap, Lydia!” Stiles’ jaw dropped, “You’re amazing. Thank you so-”

She turned to Derek, cutting him off with a whip of her hair. “Fifteen hundred for meeting him and another fifteen hundred when Jackson testifies. I can call right now and cancel.”

“Lydia-” Stiles started to object.

“Done,” Derek said, “Is check alright?”

“Perfect,” She said. She sat down in an arm chair across from the house. “Now explain this.”

Derek looked at Stiles who bit his lip nervously. “We’re together now,” he said, with the same sensation of diving head first into a frozen lake. “Dating.” Stiles nodded.

“Congratulations,” Lydia said. Her mouth was a thin line of disapproval. “Is Stiles also out of a job, then?”

“I- I’m looking,” Stiles admitted, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “We’re gonna… keep it secret until I get a new job. I’m still working for Derek right now.”

“Ah. Then I think I’d like cash after all.”

“Lydia-” Stiles began but she cut him off.

“No, you listen to me, Stiles Stilinski! For once in your life, listen. This-” she gestured at the two of them, “is going to blow up in your face, one way or another. You’re going to keep it a secret? Stellar job so far! What are you going to do when someone else finds you together? How are you gonna handle an investigation, or when Derek loses his job for unprofessional conduct? What are you gonna tell your parents? I assume you think you’re in love?”

Stiles said nothing but nodded. He took Derek’s hand in his. Lydia snorted.

“Nothing better than trying to keep that a secret,” she said, standing. “I’m going to bed. Good luck with your suicide pact.”

She walked quickly to her room, slamming the door shut behind her. Stiles settled down onto the couch and stared up at the ceiling. Derek sat down next to him. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, “She doesn’t mean- no, she totally means it but just ‘cause she’s worried. I can’t blame her… the last person she was in love with was Jackson…” he frowned, staring down at the carpet.

“Are you worried?” Derek asked.

Stiles put his arm over Derek’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “No,” he pressed a kiss to Derek’s forehead, “I’m not worried at all.”

Derek swallowed and rested his head against Stiles’ chest. They stayed that way for a long time, with Stiles holding him. Stiles’ fingers lifted, gently stroking Derek’s hair.

“Come to bed with me?” Stiles asked in a sleepy voice.

Derek nodded, letting Stiles guide him back to his room. Derek had never been inside Stiles’ room but it was precisely as he imagined it; full without being cluttered, everything in its appropriate place. The walls were lined with photographs or smiling people. Derek recognized Stiles’ family even though he’d never meet any of them from the picture Stiles kept on his desk. Lydia was there, along with a number of other individuals Derek assumed were Stiles’ friends. Perhaps one day he could meet them. Twenty four hours ago he never would have expected to be here. With Stiles leaning on his arm, anything felt possible.

“Come on,” Stiles said, “Bed time. Get your clothes off, asshole.”

Derek obeyed, letting the expensive suit fall on the floor. Stiles watched from the bed, biting his lower lip in appreciation.

“Are you gonna sleep in your clothes?” Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head. “I think you get to undress me tonight,” he said, “No hands though. Let’s put that talented mouth to work, huh, Mr. Lawyer Man?”

Derek nodded. He knelt before Stiles, eager to begin his task, contemplating the best way to get his fly open. Stiles smacked his head away.

“Greedy,” he tutted, “Work your way down to the good stuff.”

“Yes, Stiles,” He stood and braced himself on the bed. Stiles peered up at him. Derek kissed his neck, amazed that Stiles didn’t immediately push him off. Rather he sat there, perfectly still, with a small smile like Derek was an overly friendly kitten. Derek moved down slowly, unable to resist the urge to press his luck by kissing every available inch of skin, until his lips reached Stiles collar. The tie and jacket had been abandoned at the office so Derek focused on the buttons, carefully sliding them with his teeth until they popped free of their holes.

“Careful, asshole, this shirt’s expensive,” Stiles warned, reaching up to pet Derek’s hair. Derek leaned into the touch, sighing with relief.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. He pressed another kiss to Stiles’ bare chest. He never got to look at Stiles like this… never got to worship in the way he wanted to. “God, Stiles, you’re perfect. I don’t deserve-”

“Hey,” Stiles smacked him, “Focus. I’m still wearing clothes.”

Derek nodded and continued his ministrations. He pressed a kiss to each new inch of skin until all of the shirt was opened. Stiles chest thrummed beneath his tongue. He could have spent most of the night on his chest alone, tracing the outlines of faded scars and bruises, but Stiles pushed his head lower, reminding him to focus.

Derek pushed his nose into Stiles’ crotch, breathing in deeply. Stiles gave a small stuttering moan as Derek’s teeth played with the waist of his slacks. His tongue pushed through the twin buttons, releasing the fly. He pulled the zipper down with his teeth, nuzzling up against his warm cotton boxers. He was already wet, Derek could smell it at this distance. He shook ever so slightly as Derek pulled his underwear down with his teeth and gave a soft sight.

“Mmm,” Stiles murmured, threading his fingers through Derek’s hair. He guided him down the curve of his body, pushing him gently down to his knees. Derek lowered himself down to the floor, pressing his chin into the dirty carpet. He couldn’t believe Stiles would let him close enough for this, that Stiles would allow him to touch him that way. Without thinking, he pressed a kiss into his ankle. Stiles chuckled and lifted him slowly, just two fingers against his chin leading him to his feet.

“Good boy,” he whispered, “There’s my good boy. Come up to bed.”

“Yes, Stiles,” Derek murmured, crawling up next to the younger man. He reached over him, flicking the lights into darkness. His long finger wound around Derek’s hair, pulling him in for a chaste kiss, just hard enough to hurt. Derek’s erection pressed into his stomach twitching as their lips met.

“You need me to take care of that, baby?” he asked in a whisper.

Derek shook his head. “Just let me be with you. Please, Stiles.”

“Always,” he said, kissing him again. “Forever, I promise.”

They didn’t say anything after that. They didn’t need to. Derek curled into Stiles’ chest as his dom stroked his hair. He fell asleep that way, only waking when Stiles’ alarm sounded in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No body better call Lydia a bitch in the comments. Yeah, she's being a little harsh but all her criticisms are valid!
> 
> Anyway... please comment and thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles always slept better with Derek on top of him. He didn’t mind waking early with the older man laying in the crook of his arms, his face pressed into his chest. He’d drooled on his boss’s hair in the night. No, he’d drooled on his lover’s hair which probably didn’t recommend Stiles as a boyfriend but Derek was stuck anyway. Because Derek loved him.

He moaned a little when Stiles disentangled himself from his grip. “Shh,” he instructed softly, “I’m just gonna grab some coffee, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

Derek grunted, burying his face into the sheets again. Stiles slipped into the kitchen, removing his phone from its charger. He had several new emails, mostly from various petitions he’d signed at one point or another, but two from Lydia and Scott that actually looked interesting.

He clicked on Lydia’s first, dreading the contents. She was not above sending email howlers when he pissed her off too badly.

_Stiles,_

_Thanks for not waking me up with your gross sex noises. Meeting with Judge Whittemore later today. No promises. Tell D to leave the check in the kitchen._

Stiles nodded, sending a quick reply of confirmation and thanks. He didn’t expect an apology for her harsh words the night before. Lydia never apologized unless she believed she was in the wrong. Right now, however perfectly he seemed to fit in Stiles’ bed, Derek was an unknown variable to her in an experiment she didn’t approve of.

Turning on the coffee pot, Stiles slipped into the bathroom. He downed the anti-anxiety medication first, before he could start wondering whether everything good in his life was merely an elaborate trick.  Then came the testosterone. Stiles ran his fingers over his face, amazed at the transformation. His cheek bones were still too high for his tastes but lots of guys had that. He was even starting to grow hair on his chin. Derek seemed to like it well enough.

Sitting on the toilet, he opened up the email from Scott.

_Dude,_

_Sorry about not picking up. Me and Kira started a no phones in the bed room rule._

_Why are you asking about Jackson Whittemore? He’s was a tool in college and now he’s a tool somewhere else. I unfriended his ass a long time ago._

_P.S: Parents’ anniversary’s next week. What are you getting them? Because they have six egg beaters, dude. Mom’s talking about making a sculpture out of them. We need to coordinate. Maybe a cruise or something?_

_Love you,_

_Scott_

The anniversary always managed to sneak up on him. Stiles and Scott had done gifts together when they were both starving college students but had split up when Stiles landed his job with Derek and Scott started his residency. Their parents had nearly reached the ten year mark, a cruise would be appropriate. He could definitely put up half of that.

He responded quickly.

_Don’t worry about Jackson. Doesn’t matter anymore._

_RE: Anniversary. Cruise is good… but where? And can we find a vegan one so my dad’s heart doesn’t explode?_

Scott texted him back almost immediately; _Dude, we want them to STAY married._

Stiles chuckled, returning to the kitchen. He poured a mug for Derek and another for himself and returned to the bedroom.

His lover was sitting up in the bed by the time he returned. Unabashedly nude, spread out over his sheets, he smiled when Stiles handed him the coffee. He climbed in next to him, enjoying the small space of the bed. “Sleep okay?” he asked.

“Wonderful,” Derek whispered, nuzzling at Stiles’ neck.

“Lydia’s out,” Stiles said, “You don’t have to be quiet.”

Derek grinned, sipping at his coffee. “Good,” he kissed him again, sending a small shiver of pleasure up Stiles’ spine. “What do I have going on today?”

“Standard stuff,” Stiles answered, “Depending on what Lydia says, you should probably contact Boyd. Jackson and Daehler ought to give him enough confidence to release his undercovers. Then you’re gonna wanna talk to Yukimura… see if we can get a court date.”

“Mmm,” Derek nibbled at his ear. “Then what?”

“Oh that’s not enough for you?” Stiles said, putting his phone down and turning his full attention to Derek. He pressed a small kiss to the older man’s taut, sweaty skin with every word. “We’re gonna put away a major criminal in the next couple weeks, depending on the strings Yukimura can pull, and you want something more?”

“I wanna be with you,” Derek said.

“You’re in luck, buddy, I’m gonna be with you all day,” he licked the coffee off of Derek’s lips, “Part of the whole personal assistant thing.”

“Stiles,” Derek murmured, just a hint of frustration to his voice.

“What?” he grinned slyly, running his fingers up the length of Derek’s thigh. His cock twitched at the lightest touch, already half hard. “Oh? Does my good boy want to play?”

Derek nodded, biting his lower lip.

“Beg me,” Stiles instructed, “Come on, asshole, let me know how much you want it.”

Derek’s cock rose up to attention and Stiles had to wonder how Asshole and Good Boy could be so interchangeable in that beautiful, fucked up head of his. Of course, Stiles was the one who stiffened at the very first breathless “please,” that worked its way out of Derek’s mouth so he couldn’t really judge.

“Louder,” he said, “Make me believe you.”

“Please, Stiles. I need you to touch me! Please, I need it so much.”

“You were hard all night, weren’t you?” Stiles said, “I could feel your little cock poking at me. Now you want me to take care of it for you?”

Derek nodded, shaky. “Please, Stiles…”

“Please what? What do you want me to do, Derek?”

“Anything,” he said, baring his neck as his pulse throbbed just below the skin. Stiles wanted to bite him, that salty tan skin, hard enough that he bleed. “Fuck me, beat me, whatever you want, just touch me, please!”

Stiles bit his tongue, forcing himself to consider all their options. Technically, they didn’t need to go to the office today. There wouldn’t be anything to do but go over old case files until Lydia got back to them. Derek was desperate too. He’d hardly be able to focus in this condition, to say nothing of Stiles who’d already been pushed to the point of distraction just thinking about Derek. Now that he belonged to him… they ought to celebrate it somehow.

“Okay,” he said, “I can fuck you if you want, asshole,”

“Thank you, Stiles…”

“But not yet,” Stiles said, enjoying the way Derek’s face fell but the spark of arousal stayed in his eyes. “You’re not ready yet.”

“I am ready-”

“Don’t fucking contradict me, asshole,” Stiles snapped. “If I say you’re not ready yet, then you’re not fucking ready, got it?”

“Yes, Stiles,” he swallowed hard, lowering his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“Good,” Stiles said, “If I’m gonna touch you, you gotta do something for me first.”

“Yes, Stiles, anything,” he nodded furiously, unable to his eagerness.

“Go out into the kitchen and get on your hands and knees,” Stiles said, jerking his head towards the door. Derek practically leapt to obey and Stiles turned his attention to the closet. His own collection of toys paled in comparison to Derek’s. His beautiful sub had a few more years and a lot more disposable income devoted to the study of pain and humiliation but Stiles was pretty proud of the stuff he’d managed to put together. Every item had a special purpose, a fantasy held for years before the actual purchase was made. Most were unused. Before Derek, Stiles had barely dated and never topped anyone for longer than a few practice sessions at the dungeon. There certainly wasn’t anyone else he’d trust with these kinds of fantasies… nobody he’d trust with his heart.

Armed with his toys, lube, and cuffs, Stiles walked slowly out into the kitchen. Derek was on his hands and knees, just as instructed, his head lowered in submission. Stiles looked him over, admiring the curve of his ass, the way his hair stood in the cold kitchen light. He fought the urge to touch him.

“Color?”

“Green,” Derek said in one huffed out breath, “Please, Stiles-”

“Quiet!” he snapped, “Don’t talk unless I prompt you. You’re going to be gagged in a minute. If you want me to stop, you’re going to knock three times on the floor. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, Stiles,” Derek said.

“Good,” he walked around Derek, making sure not to look at him, and knelt down by the sink. He pulled out a small bucket and filled it up with hot water. “You were rude last night, asshole. You called my apartment a shit hole, you remember that?”

“Y-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Stiles barked before Derek could even finish his confirmation. “If I wanna hear from an asshole, I’ll just fart. You think you can run your mouth under my roof and nothings gonna happen? Answer me!”

“No, Stiles,” Derek hung his head in shame.

“Damn right, no,” Stiles said, “So, since my apartment isn’t good enough for Mr. Candy Ass Derek Hale, you’re gonna clean it on your hands and fucking knees, bitch.”

Derek glanced up at him, his lips parted and wet. Stiles swallowed, and forced his eyes to shut as he placed the bucket down in front of Derek. “That’s not all though,” he said, pulling himself up to full height. He pulled a long black box from the counter, popping it open. “I made this senior year,” he explained, pulling the long black vibrator from it’s container, letting the leather harness at the base fall down around his fingers. “Not the dildo itself but I modified it. I made the harness. It’ll stay inside you no matter how much you squirm. If you beg nice, I’ll put it in with lube.”

Of course, Stiles would never put anything inside of Derek without proper, possibly excessive, lubrication. Derek knew that. The begging just made everything better. “Please, Stiles, I can’t- it’s too big without lube. Please, help me!”

Stiles snorted. “Please, like you aren’t already spreading for it. I bet I could just shove it in dry and you’d eat it up. You need to be filled, don’t you, asshole?”

“Yes,” Derek dropped his head and made a high pitched keen. A blush spread over his face, growing out over his neck and back. “Please, Stiles, I want- I want to be filled… however you want me… dry or wet, I want- I need you to take care of me… please!”

“Not bad,” Stiles crossed behind him, silently coating the dildo with KY jelly. “You want me to stretch you…”

“Yes!” he gasped, shivering at the very suggestion, before Stiles even touched him. “Please, Stiles. Please touch me… I want you in me… I _need_ you…”

“Shut up,” Stiles let himself smile, half with the familiar thrill of a scene and Derek’s deference and half in absolute wonder that he was allowed this perfect experience. “You’re fucking disgusting, you know that? Pathetic!” Derek groaned as Stiles pushed his fingers inside him, stretching him three fingers wide. “I coulda had a normal life except for you. Could’ve got a normal boyfriend who isn’t all fucked in the head. I could-”

“Stiles,” Derek barked painfully, “Red.”

Stiles pulled his fingers out and scooted back, suddenly horrified at himself. Derek hadn’t told him to stop during a scene for years. “Are you okay? What did I do? If I hurt you, Derek, I’m sor-”

“No,” Derek said softly. He didn’t move from the position Stiles put him in. “You didn’t- you’re great just- don’t talk about leaving me. Please? I couldn’t- don’t talk about it. I know you could but…”

“Hey,” Stiles scooted forward, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

Derek nodded and Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s waist, pulling him down against his chest. They lay together on the cool kitchen floor for a few seconds until Derek relaxed against him. “I’m here. I’m not going to leave you, I promise, not until you ask me to. I love you, Derek. You gotta know that, right?”

He nodded, shaking slightly. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s stupid-”

“No, it’s not.” Stiles said, kissing him again. “You are not stupid. You’re the smartest guy I know. I shouldn’t have talked about other guys. I’m never gonna do that again.”

“I love you,” Derek said. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you-”

“You’re not gonna lose me,” Stiles said, “Never. You’re so good, Derek. I love you so much, I could never leave you.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said without hesitation. “I promise you, Derek. No leaving unless you want me to.”

And even then, he’d probably Facebook stalk him for weeks after, make up excuses to hang around the office or the court house. He certainly couldn’t dominate anyone else after Derek. The realization didn’t hit him as hard as it should have. Maybe Stiles had already known on some level but after seeing Derek Hale on his knees, on his back, covered in beautiful bruises that Stiles put there, he had no doubt. Nobody else would come close.

“I won’t want you to,” Derek said. “I’ll never want that.”

“Good,” Stiles kissed him softly, rubbing circles over his chest. “Can I do anything else? You want any food? Water?”

Derek shook his head. Stiles pressed closer to him, covering every possible portion of Derek’s body with his own. “Do you wanna talk about the scene?”

“It was good,” he murmured, “I liked… everything. You saw. You know how you affect me, Stiles, that’s why-” he cut himself off in a shuddering breath. “Everyone leaves… I can’t lose you too. You said you wanted to end it last night-”

“I didn’t-” he bit his tongue, forcing himself to think before arguing with Derek during aftercare,

“I know,” Derek said, “I just- you said it was ending and I thought I was going to lose my mind. I can’t- I lost everyone…I can’t lose you too.”

“You won’t,” Stiles whispered. “Derek, I promise I am not going anywhere. I’m so sorry I made you feel that way. I won’t ever say anything like that again. I promise.”

“I know,” Derek said but his voice wavered and Stiles wanted more than anything to stop that sound coming out of Derek’s mouth. Derek should never sound that way, broken and lost. He’d do everything in his power to never have to hear that again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh! I'm sorry this took so long and for the cock blocking fluff but I wanted to show Stiles The Good Dom (tm) respecting safe words and giving good after care and it just exploded into this whole thing about Derek's insecurities and I couldn't figure out how to restart the scene.
> 
> Also, while I plan to continue this fic, I do have a real job now and therefore I am not married to any update schedule. I will write what I feel like, be it this, another fanfic or my own nonsense. Sorry not sorry. 
> 
> Anyway, please review.


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles made Derek eat, essentially just by placing food in front of him. He bustled around the kitchen, trying to find “protein and anti-oxidents” and lamenting that they weren’t in Derek’s fully stocked penthouse. Stiles lived like a college student, cupboards filled with ramen, dry cereal and canned vegetables. Derek would have to start paying him in fruit, just to avoid losing him to scurvy.

Eventually, having provided Derek with Cap’n Crunch, coffee  and one of Lydia’s bananas because “she’s mad at me anyway,” Stiles took his place behind Derek, his skinny arms circled around his shoulders, his lips in Derek’s hair. They stayed like that, quiet and comfortable in each other’s space until Derek finished eating.

“You okay?” Stiles asked, a few moments later.

“Yeah,” Derek said, still a little embarrassed about having to safe word out because of his feelings, even if Stiles said his feelings were perfectly valid. “Tired,”

“Mmm,” Stiles said, leaning forward to kiss his neck. “You wanna have another cup of coffee or take a nap?”

“It’s ten in the morning,” Derek said.

Stiles shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

“We should go grocery shopping,” Derek said, glancing again at the cupboards.

“Can’t really afford it right now,” Stiles said in a huff, “Not all of us are salary, Mr. Hale.”

“I pay you a living wage,” Derek said, “Higher, in fact.”

“Yeah, and I got debts to pay. Seriously, I don’t need anything.”

“You need fruit, bread, milk that’s not about to expire, and some kind of vegetable that’s not packed with preservatives.” Derek said, “I can pay for it.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “You get that you’re not my sugar daddy, right? You’re buying me groceries, offering to get me a better apartment-”

“That offer stands, by the way,” Derek said. “I want to help, Stiles. Besides, you eat my food all the time.”

Stiles opened his mouth to argue again but shut it with a small blush. “Fine,” he said, “You can buy me bread or whatever but this is not a regular thing! No ski chalets or opera tickets or diamond whatevers-”

“You’d never sit through an opera,” Derek said, rolling his eyes, “And why do you think we live in the plot of _Pretty Woman_?”

“Shut up,” Stiles chuckled. “Thanks, though. I appreciate it.”

“It’s nothing,” Derek said, “but I am taking you to an actually good grocery store and none of that _Food For Less_ nonsense.”

“But, Derek!” Stiles whined, leaning up against him to drive home the petulance, “It’s food… for less!”

After a long and extremely distracting shower, they emerged from the building with Stiles’ hand in Derek’s back pocket. He wore the same suit from last night, not wishing to make the trip all the way across town, only without the tie or jacket. It was rumpled, probably smelling more than a bit of sex, but Derek thought this might be his favorite suit now. Stiles was complaining about having to map a subway route to a decent grocery store as he gently palmed the curve of Derek’s ass. He kept it there all through the subway ride and into the store. For his part, Derek could put his arm around Stiles shoulder and keep him as close as he wanted to.

Everything went perfectly until they reached the yogurt section of the dairy aisle. By this time, Stiles had fully embraced the experience, openly referring to Derek as his ‘sugar daddy’ and quoting the Yoplait, “it is so good” commercials.

“Seriously, though, there is so much crazy gender specific advertising in the yogurt industry,” he said, examining a black container labeled “powerful yogurt” with a scoff, “Like at what point did the world decide that Yogurt was the most feminine of all food and guys needed a bull and a heavy metal theme song to enjoy it?”

Derek chuckled, “Bro-gurt.” Stiles laughed.

“God damn you, you make the worst fucking puns…” suddenly his face fell, “shit.”

“What?” Derek said, glancing over his shoulder as Stiles squeaked for him not to look. A young man with light, but decidedly brown skin and spiked black hair walked towards them, arm in arm with a beautiful woman with jet black hair. He recognized the girl, Kira Yukimura, as his boss’s daughter but Stiles had never met Kira.

“It’s Scott,” he hissed, pretending to be suddenly interested in the plain bulk yogurt, “My brother… shit, this is why I go to food for less… fuck!”

“They haven’t seen us,” Derek said, watching the couple examine some vitamins on the opposite side of the aisle. “I’ll go.”

The look of relief on Stiles’ face was fleeting but it still hurt. “You don’t have to…” he said, guiltily. “I’m not ashamed of you or anything-”

“I know,” Derek said, not quite lying. “It’s early, I’ll meet you up front.”

He side stepped Stiles just in time to hear Scott call out.  Stiles returned the gesture  with a painful transparent exuberance and Derek hid in the corner next to the cheeses where he could eavesdrop and watch Stiles’ family through the glass.

He’d never met Stiles’ brother but he was a frequent topic in his brother’s conversation. Scott was studying veterinary medicine and played community lacrosse. He’d been dating Kira for two years and Stiles thought he would propose sometime before or around Christmas. Technically, Scott and Stiles were step brothers. They had been best friends since they were four. Scott’s mother had assisted Stiles with the medical side of his transition and started dating his father during the first year of their children’s undergrad. The parents married long after the boys began their profession careers which was why Scott kept his own last name rather than adopting Stilinski. There was a picture on Stiles’ refrigerator of him and Scott in suits with teal ties, surrounding a smiling bride with curly black hair and eyes like Scott’s and sandy haired man with Stiles’ smile. The anniversary was coming up. Stiles had requested time off.

The brothers exchanged pleasantries, talked briefly about work where Stiles lied about Derek giving him the day off. Then Stiles asked Kira about her school and she told him it was fine. Derek stopped pretending to care about cheese and snuck into the next aisle over to wait for Stiles at the front of the store. He felt like an asshole. The conversation wasn’t anything worth eavesdropping on. Had he really thought Stiles would divulge some great insight into his emotions in the middle of a grocery store? If Derek were standing next to Stiles, talking to his family like everything about them was normal, it would have been wonderful. Straining to hear it over calm grocery music and the whirr of refrigerators just depressed him.

Derek distracted himself by reading tabloids until Stiles found him. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, looking guiltier than Derek had ever seen him.

“It’s fine.”

“No really, Derek, I shouldn’t have done that! I shouldn’t make you feel like-”

“It’s fine, Stiles,” Derek forced himself to smile, “Did we get everything you needed?”

He nodded, biting at his lower lip. Derek ignored it as best could. “Let’s check out then.”

Stiles was silent through the entire process, not even teasing Derek about buying him groceries. He followed Derek to the subway with his head bowed, like a chastised child.

The car was mostly empty by the time Derek and Stiles got on. They opted to sit and give their arms a break from carrying groceries. Still, Stiles was silent.

“I’m not angry, Stiles,” Derek said. He rubbed his thumb across the length of his lover’s hand, unsure if he’d be able to grab it in such a public place. Stiles turned his hand over and gave Derek’s a tight squeeze.

“You should be, though,” he sighed, “Fuck, you’re my boyfriend. I’m in love with you. You should meet my brother, not sneak away and hid in a grocery store.”

“We’ve been official for less than twenty four hours,” and he was still half drunk every time Stiles called him “my boyfriend”, “It’s new and… secret for the most part.  I couldn’t meet Scott there anyway, not when Kira Yukimura is my boss’s daughter.”

Stiles blinked and sudden realization flooding his face. “Shit, I always forget she’s Yukimura’s daughter! Fuck, okay you’re right. No losing jobs because I wanna change our Facebook statuses.” He sighed, “Any other time though, I want you to meet Scott. And my dad and Melissa… everybody.”

“I want that too.” Derek admitted.

“We just gotta figure out a ‘how we met story’ that doesn’t involve you being beaten in front of me,” Stiles said, “because I doubt my dad’s heart could handle that.”

“They know you work for me, right?” Derek said, “Couldn’t we have-”

“What? A sexy office affair?” Stiles chuckled, “A bit too close to the truth, isn’t it? Much as I’d love to tie you up to a photocopier and have my way with you.”

Derek zoned out for a moment at that mental image. He could probably get a copy machine like the one in the office for his apartment. When he came out of the fantasy, Stiles was saying “it’s better if we just wait until I get a new job… tell them a couple months after… we’ll come up with something.”

He was chewing his lower lip again but Derek knew better than to comment.

A voicemail waited for Stiles when they got off the train. He held it up to his ear and sighed in relief. “You owe Lydia three thousand dollars,” he said, the color drained from his face.

“Whittemore agreed to have Jackson testify?” Derek stared. He’d never really expected Stiles’ plan to work, much less that quick. He needed to see if Lydia Martin wanted to be a lawyer when she grew up.

Stiles nodded, staring at the phone. “Derek, that’s two witnesses… if Boyd lets us at his under covers, Yukimura will give us a trial.”

Derek nodded, swallowing hard. Stiles looked at him his eyes wide. “We could get Gerard Argent,” he said in a whisper, as though the hope would float away if he said it too loudly. Derek thought it might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! The trial approaches!  
> Will Derek finally defeat his nemeses the Argents?  
> Will Stiles fuck him on the copier?  
> Will the author be distracted by a million other things and make her poor readers wait for months and months (hopefully no, apologies though)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's trial time! ONCE AGAIN: I have ZERO experience with the law outside of wikipedia and How To Get Away With Murder! If I fuck up, please let me know (preferably with sources about what I ought to be doing instead) thanks a heap and enjoy!

 

By the end of that week, they had a court date, Gerard Argent was arrested for five counts of drug trafficking and out on bail with a no fly order, and Stiles was seriously contemplating strapping Derek down and force feeding him sleeping pills. He knew this would happen. The last time they had the chance to get an Argent, Derek nearly killed himself. That was just a peon with the right last name and when the case fell through, Derek about lost his mind. This was Gerard, the kingpin, the man who ordered the hit on Derek’s parents.

Stiles wanted to get Gerard too, but not at the cost of Derek’s health and sanity. He started staying overnight at the apartment, on the good nights when he could get Derek to leave the office. He managed to get Derek up to four hours of sleep the day before the trial started, but only because Cora helped guilt him into it. The youngest Hale was leaving the city for the length of the trail, knowing that the newspapers would be rife with the story in a couple of days. She would take the train up to the mountains and stay with their uncle Peter.

Stiles stood with Derek at the platform, watching Cora’s train pull away from the station. The sky was overcast, irritatingly appropriate for the gloom and doom associated with the trial. Derek chewed on a burger Stiles made him purchase like a petulant child, glaring at the silver miracle of technology, transporting his sister away to relative psychological safety. Stiles wished he could put Derek on the train as well.

“Okay,” Derek said, as it started to drizzle, “We saw her off. I ate food. Now we get back to work.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, pulling a banana from his attache case, “but you’re eating this in the car.”

Derek didn’t even grumble as they walked back to the town car waiting in the parking lot. Stiles admired Derek in a lot of ways. He admired his boss for his work ethic, and his passion for justice. A lot of people, going through what he did at such a young age, might give up on themselves. They certainly had every right to but Derek had taken the pain of his family’s destruction and used it to help other people. A lot of people would avoid the Argents for the rest of their lives but Derek fought for closure, for himself and his sister. Stiles admired that in a boss, in really every person that he didn’t love.

The Derek he loved, Stiles wanted to put on the train with his sister. He wanted that Derek to never hear the word Argent for the rest of his life, to separate himself from tragedy and sleep through the night without cold sweats and nightmares. Leave the justice to someone else, Isaac Lahey or Yukimura or Boyd, who wouldn’t do as good a job as lawyer Derek but would shield the Derek Stiles loved.

 _Just my bad luck they’re the same person._ Stiles thought, absentmindedly rubbing at the back of Derek’s neck. His boss was busy staring at his phone, as though willing the call to appear. Boyd had promised access to his undercover, for Derek only, but neglected to give them a date or time. That was nearly twelve hours ago and Derek held the phone as though he could squeeze the information out of it.

The rain fell in earnest by the time they reached the office building. Stiles wished he had an umbrella to hold over Derek’s head. His lover didn’t even bother to pull his coat around him to keep out the chill.

They managed to get another three and a half hours of work  during which time Derek consumed three cups of coffee and didn’t move from his desk once. When Boyd finally called, Stiles tried not to resent the detective for ruining his plan of forcing Derek to eat a salad with the promise of sexual release. Boyd was only doing his job. The trouble was that Derek was only doing his job. When Boyd called Derek answered in quick, affirmatives and hung up in less than a minute. Then he stood and left without a word. Stiles followed him down the hallway.

“Derek, you’re gonna work yourself to death,” he said, not bothering to beat around the bush, once they got into the elevator.

“I am not,” Derek grunted, staring at his phone, “That’s why you’re here.”

“You should write greeting cards,” Stiles told him. “And seriously, there is only so much I can do when you’re- put the phone away!”

He latched onto Derek’s arm and forced it down with a glare. “Look at me,” Stiles commanded. Derek’s eyes, dull and heavy from lack of sleep, met his. He’d aged in the last week. Stiles brushed his fingers over the stubble that popped up like weeds since they got a trial date, not caring who saw. “I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t,” Derek said, in a scratched whisper usually reserved for the bedroom. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine… this is the case, Stiles. We might not get another chance and I can’t afford to give anything less than a hundred and fifty percent on it.”

“Mathematically impossible,” Stiles said, “and you can’t afford to run yourself ragged before the trial even starts. The Argents are going to try and break you in there, you want to give them a head start?”

“I’m not-”

“Stop me if I get this wrong,” Stiles said, pulling away as they reached the lower floors. “You’re obsessively picking this case apart because you know exactly what the Argents are capable of and you know exactly how many times Gerard has walked, so many times that you cannot stop thinking about it, worrying about it… because you’re terrified of failing.”

Derek took a deep breath, nodding. “I don’t want to let them down,” he said in a small voice, barely above a whisper. Stiles didn’t need to ask who.

“You’re not going to fail.” Stiles said. “Gerard Argent is going to spend the rest of his miserable life in prison because you know this case backwards and forwards and we’ve been working it for months. Everything is coming together to get that scum bag locked away but we can’t do it without you, Derek. So you’re going to go meet Boyd, talk to his under cover, and then you’re going straight home where you will get a full night’s sleep if I have to handcuff you to the bed.”

Derek smirked weakly. “Promise?”

“Always,” Stiles said just as the elevator dinged to the ground floor and Derek hurried out into the rain.

***

For the entirety of the trial, Stiles made Derek go to bed by nine o’clock, jerking him off until sleep finally overtook him. In the morning they showered together. Stiles made sure he washed and shaved thoroughly and then insisted on watching him eat a full breakfast before they headed out to the courthouse. Derek wasn’t sure if it was a very prolonged submission scene or the most aggressive aftercare he’d ever experienced but it was working. Derek felt energized, ready for the fight of his life.

“The state calls Erica Reyes to the stand,” he said, appreciating the look of angry confusing on Leo Deucalion’s face. As a general rule, Derek despised mob lawyers but, as the last member of the team that discredited his baby sister enough that Kate Argent got away with murdering his parents, Deucalion had a special hatred reserved just for him.

A young woman in a gray pant suit with stunning blond hair walked to the stand, high heels clacking on the tile floor. “Please state your full name for the record,” Judge Morrell said, apparently immune to the whispers circulating the courtroom.

“Erica Arabella Reyes,” she said, hazel eyes trained on Gerard Argent.

“And what is your profession, Ms. Reyes?” Derek asked, wishing he could see the old man’s face.

“For the past three years, I’ve worked as a bodyguard, personal driver and enforcer for the Argent family…” Erica said, her voice clear and even, “but for about a year and a half I’ve been working undercover with the Beacon Hills’ police department, informing them on the illicit activities of Gerard Argent and other members of his organization.”

An audible gasp echoed in the courtroom. Derek glanced back just in time to see Stiles cover his mouth and cough. Derek had been just as surprised when he went to meet Boyd’s informant and found Erica Reyes, Gerard’s most ruthless enforcer after his daughter, waiting in a safe house. No one had suspected because Erica was goddamn brilliant at what she did.

“Would you say that Gerard Argent trusted you?” Derek asked.

“Enough to place me on security detail for his only grandchild.”

“You’re referring to Allison Argent, who was killed nearly two years ago?”

“Yes, sir, I was off duty that night.”

“Objection!” Deucalion stood up, “What does the tragic circumstances of his granddaughter’s death have to do with the current charges against my client?”

“I’m endeavoring to demonstrate why such a trusted lieutenant would choose to betray her bosses to the police,” Derek said mildly.

“Proceed, Mr. Hale,” Morrell said, “Carefully.”

Derek nodded. “Can you describe the circumstances surrounding your decision to go to the authorities?”

Erica nodded, her eyes down cast. “It was Allison, Mr. Hale. She was eighteen when she died. The official report said it was a hunting accident which didn’t add up to me. Allison had been practicing archery since she was eight or nine years old. She knew how to hunt, how to keep herself safe while hunting. She was wearing all the right clothing. I figured it would have to be a homicide. The Argents have a lot of enemies and a lot more reasons to want the cops out of their business. Off hand, I could probably list five different families who’d use Allison to get at Gerard.”

“But you don’t believe they did?”

Erica shook her head. “I thought so at first, until I found the tapes. Allison was collecting evidence against her grandfather. She was going to go to the police with it.”

“Your honor, I’d like to submit Allison Argent’s tapes as Exhibit D for the jury’s inspection.” Derek said quickly.

Morell nodded. Derek turned to Erica. “What was your response when you found out Allison Argent was going to inform on her own grandfather?”

“Objection!” Deucalion all but shouted.

“Overruled.” Morell snapped. “Answer the question, Ms. Reyes.”

“When I found the tapes, I knew Gerard was responsible for her death,” Erica said in a hollow voice. “That’s why I decided to go to the Captain. If Gerard was ruthless enough to kill his own granddaughter, there was nothing to keep me safe.”

“Objection! That’s blatant speculation. Ms. Reyes has no evidence of that!” Deucalion growled.

“Pull your head out of your ass!” Erica shouted, “Kate was with her! She doesn’t do shit without his orders!”

“Your honor, I move that that be stricken from the record!”

“Carried,” Morell’s gavel banged on hardwood. “Ms. Reyes, one more outburst like that and I’ll hold you in contempt of court. Mr. Hale, control your witness.”

“Yes, your honor.” Derek said. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t on the record. Erica said it. The jury heard it and they wouldn’t forget. He resisted the urge to glance behind him, find Kate in the crowd. Stiles had said not to let her affect his performance but… god did he want to see her sweat. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. “Ms. Reyes, what happened after you found the tapes.”

“I went to the Captain,”

“Captain Vernon Boyd III, of the Beacon Hills police force?”

“Yes.”

“And why did you go to Captain Boyd?” Derek asked.

Erica chuckled. “He arrested me one time. Didn’t beat me, didn’t take a bribe. I didn’t need somebody on the take.”

“A lot of cops were on the take?”

“Enough, ” Erica said, “that’s how Gerard got his Aconite on the streets without any trouble.”

“Tell me about Aconite.”

Erica talked for hours. She had three years of evidence to get in anyway. By the time court was adjourned for the day, her throat was hoarse and she still had cross examination waiting for her in the morning. Stiles handed her a water bottle as she left with Boyd, bound for their safe house. “You did great,”

Erica smiled weakly and didn’t say anything but took the water.  “We’ll see you tomorrow, “ Boyd said, guiding her out of the courtroom with his arms around her shoulder.

“You good, boss?” Stiles asked as Derek watched them leave.

“Fine,” Derek murmured. The Argents had left first but it wasn’t a retreat by any stretch of the imagination. Kate had caught his eye, took him in appraisingly like she always did. Derek didn’t know what to do with that. True the fantasies he had of himself as the avenging lawyer hero were simply fantasies but he’d hoped for at least some reaction. Some bit of fear in those cold green eyes. Gerard walked past him as though he were nothing but that was unsurprising. He put it out of his mind. There would be enough Argent to last him the rest of his life without thinking of them when they weren’t there.

Stiles waited until Derek’s car dropped Isaac off at his own shabby apartment before jumping Derek entirely.

“Jesus, fuck, Derek, you were brilliant in there!” He mumbled, trying to speak and kiss Derek at the same time while tearing away at their clothing. “That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever see. Goddamn, makes me remember why I wanted this job.”

“Rent money?” Derek tried to grin but his face just felt flush and warm and Stiles was grinding up against his cock.

“Shut up, Asshole, that’s why I needed a job,” Stiles said, sucking a hickey deep into Derek’s neck. “I wanted this job so I could watch a big, powerful, stud in black suit put away bad guys with nothing but his pretty Fuck Me mouth.”

“I haven’t put anyone away yet,” Derek breathed.

“You did today,” Stiles whispered. “I swear to god, you did it today so tonight I will do anything you want. Anything in the world, you got it?”

Derek got it twice that night.

***

When Stiles was a child, he could never shut up. Before his mother died she figured out that keeping his hands busy helped stem the tidal wave of words that threatened to drown everyone around her son, but it only worked about half the time. As an adult, Stiles rarely placed himself in a situation where silence was mandatory. His family was used to his babble and Derek actually got off on it, when Stiles did it right. Weirdly, Stiles thought he talked less now than he did as a child, precisely because he never had to be quiet. Except when juries were deliberating.

Not every jury though, just Argent juries. Argent juries were special apparently. Argent juries took their goddamn time when they should have been done quicker than a bag of microwave popcorn. Argent juries made his boss zone out into nothingness. Argent juries made him keep his mouth shut for hours.

“You okay?” he said, handing Derek his drink.

“Mmm,” Derek nodded without looking up. He sipped and made a face. “Stiles, I asked you for coffee.”

“Yeah, I vetoed that,” Stiles shrugged away Derek’s scowl. “You’ve been living off coffee for the last two weeks. You get orange juice now that you’re not planning out the trial of the century. Any lip and I’m taking your blood pressure when we get home.”

Derek snorted and drank his juice. “Lahey,” Stiles called, “I got you a smoothie.”

The younger lawyer jittered on the other side of the hallway, his body shaking slightly like one of those tiny, terrified dogs. Isaac had the opposite problem of Stiles’. He rarely spoke, if ever, but could not stop moving when nervous, which was all the time. Just like a dog, he came when called, mumbling his thanks as he took the drink. Stiles didn’t know whether Isaac inspired more frustration or pity in him. He wasn’t a bad legal mind at least from what Derek told Stiles but he acted like the world frightened him.  If he ever worked up the guts to take point in a trial, he’d be a pacer, no doubt. Derek had an excellent trial presence, standing perfectly still when talking to witnesses and circling when he delivered opening and closing statements. He had a way about him, that he wasn’t even aware of, that made every member of the jury think he was talking directly to them.

Now Derek wasn’t talking to anyone. He sipped his smoothie and stared at the wall. Isaac went back to pacing and Stiles fell back into uncomfortable silent anxiety.

They’d have to be idiots not to convict. All of Deucalion’s witnesses were either tied to the Argent family or weird character witnesses. Hell, Gerard’s own granddaughter had accused him from beyond the damn grave. They had to convict… unless Gerard tampered with the jury somehow. Or they were in fact idiots. Or they were afraid of retribution after they put away one of the most violent criminals in Beacon Hills’ history.

“Stiles,” Derek said suddenly. His voice was low, so only Stiles could hear it.

“What?” Stiles hissed. It wasn’t his fault if Derek’s obvious anxiety was catching.

“Color?”

“Now?!” Stiles fought to keep his voice low.

“Yeah,” Derek nodded. “We’re both stressed.”

“And in a courthouse,” Stiles hissed.

“We’ll go to the bathroom, keep quiet.” Derek wasn’t even looking at him now, just staring straight ahead, barely moving his mouth. “Please?”

The exhibition of it, the flat out wrongness was kind of sexy. Stiles’ mind raced with the possibilities Derek looked so fucking desperate for it too, his hair already mussed from where he’d run his fingers through in frustration, the bags under his eyes pronounced and painful. Stiles was certain he didn’t look much better. They both needed this.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m gonna go now and make sure the bathroom’s empty. You’re gonna wait here. If I’m not back in two minutes, you follow me. Alright?”

Derek nodded, almost imperceptibly. Stiles stood and set about his task. A cursory walk through told him the bathroom was empty. He quickly set about making sure the stalls locked securely, which they did. He’d have felt safer if the stalls didn’t end about six inches above the tiled floor but one didn’t get into BDSM for the feelings of safety. Stiles leaned against the cold blue wall, waiting for two minutes to pass.

He caught Derek the moment he walked through the door, pushing him up against it and ravishing his mouth. “It’s empty,” he muttered against Derek’s lips. “You do exactly what I tell you. No questions. No words.”

Derek nodded furiously. Stiles pulled him into the nearest stall. “On your knees. Now.” Derek nodded, dropping down without a word. “Tie off. Give it to me. Put your chest on the seat.”

He obeyed instantly. A perfectly tailored white shirt and pinstripe jacket pressed against a public toilet seat just because Stiles ordered it. “Goddamn,” he muttered, taking in the sight. “You’re perfect. Put your hands behind the toilet.”

Derek obeyed, unflinching and without question. Stiles could feel him shake beneath him as he bent over to lash him to the toilet with his tie. His body pressed tighter to Derek's, waiting for the shaking to slow. It never did. 

“You fucking love this, don’t you?” he whispered, “My fucking asshole.” His fingers raced the sharp edge of Derek’s cheekbone in wonder. This was his, all his for as long as he could hold onto it.

Derek nodded fiercely, whimpering slightly. Stiles pulled him back just enough to slip his hands onto Derek’s nipples. they were hard, sharp as knives through the thin fabric of his shirt. “Look at you, you little slut.” Stiles whispered, “Your body is begging for this, you know that? You can feel it.”  Derek managed to keep quiet this time but thrust his ass up as much as he could to grinding to Stiles’ crotch. Stiles stifled a groan. 

“If we had more time, I’d do this right.” Stiles said, “Truss you up like a prized turkey, legs spread wide. Get a gag between those cock sucking lips so you couldn’t even scream while I fucked you dry. I’d keep you that way for days, my own private sex toy, ‘till you couldn’t even stand properly. ‘Till this was all you were fit for… kneeling in a pool of your own jizz, begging for me to fuck you.”

Derek let out a deep, hissing noise, like he wanted to say Stiles’ name, before wrapping his lips around the thick pipe behind the toilet, so desperate to obey Stiles’ directions. Stiles kissed his neck and whispered into his ear, “No time for that though. Big important real life stuff happening. We just got time to take the edge off, don’t we, baby?”

With that he slipped one hand down to Derek’s fly, unzipping it enough to pull down his boss’s boxers and remove his thick cock from it’s confines. It throbbed beneath his fingers. Stiles could just encircle it between his thumb and middle finger if he squeezed just a little too tight. Derek squirmed beneath him and allowed a muffled yelp to escape his swollen lips still pressed to the cold metal toilet pipe.

“Shh, Asshole, anyone could hear you.” Stiles teased, jacking Derek off at a snail’s pace. “We got just enough time for this, to tide you over until everything’s finished, okay? Keep quiet, don’t come on your suit and I’ll give you a treat when we get home, huh?”

Derek nodded and Stiles could feel a whimper tremble in his chest but no sound escaped. “Good boy,” Stiles whispered, kissing his neck again. He increased his speed gradually, just a hair faster on each upstroke until he was jacking Derek off in earnest. Precum leaked from Derek’s cock head, coating Stiles’ fingers with a lube of their own making. “Good boy,” Stiles said, trying to stop the flow of words and failing, “You’re my good boy, Derek. So fucking good for me, you fucking Asshole. You fucking Asshole.”  

Derek came with an abortive scream that came out like a cough. Stiles sat back onto the restroom floor, feeling oddly exhausted. He let his head knock back onto the stall door and examined his hand, still slick with Derek’s come. Stiles topped almost exclusively, except when he was teasing Derek’s cock with his mouth. He’d never admit it, especially not to the man he loved, but he did like the taste of come, especially Derek’s. His boss, his lover, everything Derek was to him, lay shivering tied to a public toilet and couldn’t see him now. So Stiles allowed himself a little lick of Derek’s cooling seed, thick and salty sweet. That was his too, along with the man blissed out in front of him, for as long as he could hold onto them.Stiles pressed his fingers inside himself, bringing just enough relief that he could focus again on Derek.

“You were amazing,” he said in a soft voice as he undid the bonds around Derek’s wrists.

“Thank you, Stiles,” Derek murmured, resting his head sleepily on Stiles’ shoulders as Stiles pulled him back off the toilet.

“You’re exhausted, aren’t you?” Stiles tsked slightly. “Can you stand?”

“In a minute,” Derek murmured, nuzzling into Stiles’ neck. They didn’t have a minute though as the bathroom door swung open outside. Stiles pulled Derek to his feet, and pulled his own pants up before hastily climbing onto the toilet seat.

“Derek?” Isaac Lahey’s voice called timidly. “They reached a verdict?”

“Shit,” Derek mumbled, then spoke in a clear, lawyer voice. “Okay, I’ll be out in a minute.”

He turned to Stiles, blushing a bright adorable red and mouthed “help.” Stiles grinned and kissed his forehead, smoothing his hair into something resembling professional. “He won’t leave until you to,” he whispered into Derek’s ear, threading his tie back into place. “Go out, wash your hands and head back in. I’ll be out in a minute, once you guys are gone.”

“Stiles…”

“It’s Isaac. He worships you. If he notices, he won’t care.”

Derek nodded and took a deep breath, summoning his courage, and left. Stiles listened from atop the toilet as Derek washed his hands in silence and followed Isaac out the door. Stiles didn’t waste time washing and drying his own hands and smoothing his own rumbled suit. He wondered if anyone could actually tell what happened just by looking at him and Derek.  Maybe the bathroom had a security camera. Maybe Stiles could get a hold of the tape.

He joined Derek back in the courtroom just in time for the Bailiff to tell them to rise for Judge Morell. She took her sweet time about sitting down and ordering them to do the same. Stiles wondered if she was into kinky stuff at all. She’d make a terrifying Domme.

“Madame Forewoman, have you reached your verdict?”

“We have, your honor,” A petite woman stepped forward and read in a shaky voice. “In the Case of The People of California versus Gerard Argent, we the jury find the defendant guilty of all charges.”

Everyone seemed to start talking at once. The peanut gallery whispered amongst itself as reporters scribbled furiously. Gerard Argent was whisper yelling at his lawyer while Deucalion hotly promised to appeal everything and called for a mistrial.  Even Isaac was babbling to Derek, the first time Stiles saw him do anything of the sort. Derek himself was oblivious to everything. His shoulders dropped and his hands gripped the table in front of him. Stiles reached forward and gently squeezed his shoulder. When Derek turned, there were tears in his eyes.

Morell banged on her gavel, demanding quiet.  “Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury, I thank you for your service.” Morell nodded and turned to Gerard. “In light of that verdict and by the power entrusted to me by the State of California, I sentence the defendant, Gerard Argent, to the maximum penalty of fifty years at San Quentin State Prison. Court adjourned.”

She banged the gavel once and everyone was yelling again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone suspect Erica of being the mole? Do not tell me, let me think I am good at surprising people. 
> 
> Alas, poor Allison. It broke my heart to kill her, even in the past but honestly, I did not know how to work her in without making her evil or dead. Obviously, she never knew Scott because there is enough drama as it is. 
> 
> Yay! Gerard is guilty! Justice and whatnot! Finally a happy ending!
> 
> OR IS IT?!?!
> 
> You fuckers are so damn lucky this bit is longer than all my other chapters because ORIGINALLY, oh originally, the cliff hanger I had planned... oh you would have hated me and I would have drunk the sweet nectar of your tears and rage until I danced intoxicated in the streets!
> 
> But rest assured, nothing is over until I say so. 
> 
> preemptive evil laugh.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna wait until Friday to post this but I'm feeling down today (for no special reason, things are actually going quite well) and I could use some nice comments... or bitter comments considering the way this chapter ends... basically, I thrive off your attention.

 

Yukimura gave them the week off after the trial. The hangover lasted at least until Wednesday. Isaac was hilarious when he drank and even Boyd managed a dry smile before nodding off onto Erica’s shoulder. Stiles and Derek spent the rest of the week in bed. Surprisingly, only a fraction of the time was spent fucking. Derek underestimated how exhausted actually winning a case against the Argents made him.

“See this is why I can’t move in with you,” Stiles said, digging through Derek’s refrigerator,  “Your house elf refills your fridge for you… I would never leave.”

“I can think of worse things,” Derek said, circling his arms around Stiles’ slip hips. “Also, Jane is a cleaning professional, not a fictional character who isn’t allowed to wear clothing,”

“Stop making house elves sound hot.”

“And she is buying groceries as a favor and I’m reimbursing her.” Derek finished. “Also, I want something salty.”

“Fine,” Stiles closed the refrigerator and pulled Derek over to the cabinets. “You want sour cream and onion chips or nacho cheese? Both? Both.”

Thus fortified with processed food, they returned to their intimidating schedule of Netflix and falling asleep on top of each other. The sheets smelled like them, like sex and food and sweat. Jane had been avoiding the bedroom and Derek really needed to give her a bonus or a raise for that. As soon as he felt like putting on clothes again, probably on Friday. Maybe Saturday.

“I’m making you watch Gravity Falls,” Stiles told him as they curled up into Derek’s sheets. Derek settled in behind him, his arm over Stiles’ naked chest. Stiles had his Macbook on it’s side, scrolling through Youtube. “It’s super adorable and you’re going to love it and become obsessed with it. Then you’re making Cora watch it. Then you and her are watching it together on Skype and I will watch you watch it.”

“Or you could watch it with us?” Derek suggested. Cora was still up at Peter’s cabin, electing to stay there until the news about the verdict died down. She sounded good on the phone though, better than she had for a long time. The woods seemed to suit her better than the city anyway. Derek need to get back to the mountains too. He wanted Stiles to see Peter’s cabin, meet his uncle. There was finally time now.

“And what, record your reactions for Youtube? Because that would be a very creepy and sure fire way to make money.” Stiles said, finally selecting the pilot episode.

“Yeah,” Derek mumbled through a handful of chips, “Just as long as you’re there, okay?”

“Like havin’ me around, huh?” Stiles chuckled. He watched the video load, only pressing play when the little gray line had reached the end and the video took up his full screen. “Okay. Now shut up and watch.”

Derek did. They managed to get through five episodes before he fell back to sleep with his face in Stiles’ neck.

***

Of course, the world didn’t stop just because Gerard Argent was in prison. His lawyers promised to appeal all the way to the supreme court which would probably give Derek job security into 2023 and, contrary to popular belief, there were other, non Argent criminals in California that needed to be put behind bars.

And, so long as Derek had a job, Stiles had a job. Most of his days were spent driving off reporters trying write books about the Argents and fielding calls from the feds trying to get Derek into their ranks. Derek said no, that he didn’t want leave Beacon Hills. That made sense, for now, but Cora was showing all the signs of wanting to relocate up to the country and it wasn’t like Stiles wouldn’t follow wherever Derek lead. So he kept the contact info in a special folder on his iPad touch and didn’t bring it up again.

After a week of bed eating, Netflix and lazy sex, it was nice to settle back into an easy work routine.  Derek relaxed behind his desk and Stiles didn’t have to force him to eat and drink anymore. He started looking for jobs on his breaks. He’d kind of fallen into the personal assistant gig but he was good at it. He liked it to, enough to try for a job with someone he didn’t want to tie up and fuck. A couple had emailed him back, impressed with the resume that helped put Gerard Argent away.

When the work was over, he and Derek walked home together, or Stiles grabbed the subway for a quick hi to Lydia and a change of clothes before returning to Derek’s apartment for the night. For all his talk of wanting his own space, Stiles loved Derek’s apartment. He loved waking up with Derek in his arms, falling asleep the same way. Derek seemed to have taken the hint to stop bringing up how he wanted Stiles to move in, but he also didn’t push him out the door either. They’d figure it out soon enough anyway.

For now Stiles was content to do his job and fuck his boyfriend. He scrolled leisurely through the LinkedIn classifieds, seeing if there were any other law firms close to Derek’s apartment. Derek had the door shut to his inner sanctum, speaking on the phone with a family counselor to build the defense of a little girl hit by a car.  They’d been done soon and then maybe Stiles could talk Derek into lunch. Maybe chinese.

He glanced up as the glass door opened silently. His first thought was Carmen San Diego but in black. The woman wore a long black trench coat, her eyes obscured with heavy sun glasses. “Is Derek Hale in?”

“He’s in a meeting right now,” Stiles said, quirking an eyebrow. The dark voice felt familiar but he couldn’t place it. “Do you have an appointment?”

“He should be expecting me,” the dirty blond woman said, with a small, joyless smile.

Stiles reached for his iPad and opened up Derek’s schedule, “I’m not seeing any appointments for today. Could I have your name please?”

“No,” she said with a chuckle, pulling a black .45. “Get Derek Hale out here now and you don’t have to die with him.”

Stiles swallowed. “Kate Argent, I presume?”

She nodded, blood red grin growing wider. “And you’re Derek’s little office bitch, aren’t you? Haven’t seen you since your boss got my father locked in a cage.”

“Your father is a murdering asshole who got what he deserved,” Stiles said, fingers inching towards the security button. If he could just keep her distracted long enough to press it, they might make it out of here alive. “But hey, I guess you learned from the best, huh?”

“Don’t be stupid, kid,” she told him, training the gun directly over his heart. “I only want Derek but I’m not opposed to wasting a bullet on you if you get in my way.”

The way she said his name, all too familiar, like she had any right to it, made Stiles’ blood boil. He kept his mouth shut though, his eyes trained on her gun. Sheriff Stilinski believed that raising a child meant preparing them for adulthood. Stiles had been drilled on this very situation, what to do when someone's got a gun pointed at you, regularly before he’d mastered long division. The first rule was to cooperate. Nothing, not pride or your wallet or your car, was worth getting killed over. His dad was wrong about that. Derek was on the other side of that door. Derek, sweet, stubborn, yielding Derek that Stiles needed to stay safe. She wanted Derek and Stiles needed to keep that from happening. So much for rule one.

Rule two was get help as soon as possible. Stiles didn’t know how Kate had gotten this far without alerting security to her presence. Maybe they already knew and were just waiting for the right moment. Even if that were the case, they were taking their sweet time about it. The right moment  would’ve been about thirty seconds ago when she walked in the door. Stiles had no hope of taking her on his own, no illusion about disarming a woman with a gun like this was some heroic day dream. So security was his best bet.

Kate didn’t seem to understand what he was doing as his finger hovered above the alarm button. “Push the stupid thing already,” she demanded. She must think that summoned Derek. “Is this job really worth dying for. Get him the fuck out here.”

“Derek’s not coming,” Stiles said, giving the button a satisfying push as alarm bells sounded.  “But don’t worry. You’ll be seeing him at your own trial.”

“You little shit!” For a brief moment her veneer cracked and Stiles saw Kate Argent for what she truly was. A petty, unstable little girl, lost without her father’s orders. Then she laughed. “Fuck it,” Kate Argent said, “I’ll get him myself,” and pulled the trigger, knocking Stiles to the floor.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then she disappeared in a cloud of smoke... never to update again.
> 
>  
> 
> no, oh my god, can you imagine? No, chapter 13 is on its way and there will be emotions.   
> Thank you so much for reading and sticking with it despite the delays. Your comments are so appreciated and cherished.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I keep making myself write about subjects I know nothing about. I don't know the first thing about the law, I've never even served on a jury, and now I wrote myself into a damn hospital when I know nothing about medicine. Blame wikipedia, WebMD and Scrubs for any inaccuracies. 
> 
> After this I may as well about Lydia solving linear equations and playing football.

Everyone around him was shouting. His ears still rang from the shot, from Stiles’ scream and his own shouts of rage and fear. He couldn’t make anything out though, everything else felt far away, everything except Stiles’ ragged breathing. His lover glared up at him, his face drained and gaunt. “Asshole,” he whispered, “I told you…. don’t come out here.”

Had he? Derek remembered the shot. The bullet went all the way through Stiles and into the chair, knocking it onto the floor. Then he remembered kneeling down and taking off his jacket because they needed to stop the bleeding. There was so much blood. It soaked through Stiles’ white shirt, the shirt that had been hanging in Derek’s closet only a few hours ago. Derek didn’t know what happened to Kate or the gun and he didn’t care, not when Stiles could barely speak. “Sorry,” he managed to sob. His fingers were in Stiles hair. He’d have given anything take him into his arms but he couldn’t risk the movement. “I’m so sorry, Stiles…”

“‘sokay,” Stiles whispered, his eyes glazing over and falling closed. “Der,  ‘soka…”

“No, Stiles, please!”

“Derek!” Isaac’s voice cut through the panic and fear. When did he come in? The younger lawyer was shaking but his voice came out steady and strong. “Derek, the paramedics are here. You gotta let him go.”

Isaac didn’t lie. Men with medical bags and a stretcher crouched down beside him, checking Stiles’ pulse. “Sir, we’ll have to ask you to step back.”

Derek let Isaac guide him away. He was saying something about things being okay, that Stiles was strong. Derek couldn’t hear him, couldn’t tear his eyes away from Stiles as the paramedics lifted him on to the stretcher.

***

Derek sat alone in the hospital waiting room. They didn’t let him ride in the ambulence with Stiles so he and Isaac followed in Isaac’s car. The younger man was getting coffee from the cart, updating Yukimura on the situation. The doctors hadn’t given them much information, saying they had to wait for Stiles’ family, but they did say it would be a long time. So Isaac got coffee, because Derek couldn’t move.

He remembered what happened after Stiles was shot on the way to the hospital. The minute he heard the shot, Derek was on his feet, letting the phone drop without a thought. Kate Argent was shouting his name, explaining how the next bullet would go into his brain. Derek lunged through the door like an animal. He couldn’t remember thinking anything in particular. He had no screams of vengeance, no memories of fire or despair. If he was honest, Derek wasn’t even thinking of Stiles as he charged Kate Argent, grabbing her wrist before her finger connected with trigger. Another shot pierced the ceiling and all Derek had was rage. He was stronger than she was. Kate always depended on being the smartest person in the room, with her enemies on their knees before her. She couldn’t trick Derek’s hand squeezing her wrist until she dropped the gun with a yelp of pain, couldn’t lure his fist into a false sense of security as it connected with her skin again and again.

By the time he came back to himself, Kate was on the ground, surrounded by cops and security and Derek was on his knees next to Stiles, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Are you Derek Hale?” A woman’s voice broke him from the awful memory. “Did you come in with Stiles Stilinski?”

Derek looked up. She wore bright nurse scrubs but he recognized her face instantly, a paled, frightened version of the beautiful bride on Stiles’ refrigerator.

“You’re Stiles’ mom…” he said, in a hollow voice.

“Melissa…” She nodded as tears welled in her eyes, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Derek said. “I’m Derek, please. Did they tell you… anything? Please, I need-”

Melissa nodded, sitting down in the chair next to him. She swallowed and closed her eyes. “The bullet… went through his lungs. He’s in surgery. They don’t know how long it’ll take.”

“He’ll pull through though, right?” Derek asked, quickly. “He’s strong, he’s got to-”

“It’s not a question of strength, Derek,” Melissa said. “There’s shrapnel… a very high risk of infection and… quite frankly we’re not gonna know until we know. I’m sorry.”

Derek shuddered, pushing his hands through his hair. She was sorry. Stiles’ mother was apologizing to him while her son lay shot. She was apologizing to Derek when it was his drama, his past, his job that got Stiles hurt… that might kill him.

“The paramedics told me you were there when he…” she swallowed hard. “They said you got the gun away from her. It could have been a lot worse. Thank you.”

“Don’t,” he said, staring at his shaking hands. “She was there for me. Stiles is hurt because of me.”

“You know that’s not true,” she said, patting him on the back. “You probably saved his life.”

Derek said nothing but relaxed just a bit under her touch. They sat together in silence, until Isaac returned with the coffee. As he handed Derek the coffee, Melissa made a tching sound and grabbed Derek’s wrist. “You didn’t have the paramedics look at your hand?”

Derek shook his head. He couldn’t feel anything but bright red cuts colored his knuckles. Some of his blows must have landed on Kate’s mouth. Her teeth must have cut him.

“Shit, Derek,” Isaac muttered, staring at his hand while Melissa turned it over.

“I’m gonna grab you some bandaids,” Melissa said, standing up. “Make sure those cuts don’t get infected.”

“You don’t have to-”

She shook her head, “No, it’ll give me something to do before Tom and Scott get here.” She left before either Derek or Isaac could argue, crossing the waiting room with excellent purpose.

“That’s Stiles’ mother?” Isaac said, watching her go. “She seems nice. Wish we could’ve met her under different circumstances.”

Derek nodded. He couldn’t agree more.

Melissa was wrapping Derek’s hand when Tom Stilinski strode through the automatic door. The nurse stood and rushed to meet him, explaining rapidly what was going on, as Scott jogged up behind his step father. The older man sighed, and rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger, just the way Stiles did when he was frustrated or upset.

 _That’s what Stiles will look like when we’re old,_ Derek thought, madly. The only difference was Tom Stilinski had sand colored hair where Stiles’ was a dark brown. Melissa must have finished talking because Stiles’ father was hugging her, his shoulders shaking slightly. Scott placed a worried hand on his step father’s shoulder and squeezed slightly. Then Melissa lead them over to Derek and Isaac.

“Mr. Hale,” Stiles’  father spoke in a strong voice, a bit quicker than felt natural. “Tom Stilinski. I wanna thank you for getting my son to the hospital.”

“The paramedics did that, sir, “ Derek said, numbly. _I got him shot._

“Mel said you got the gun away from the shooter.” Stilinski said gruffly. “Things could have been a lot worse. I wanna thank you, son.”

Derek swallowed, nodding. He took the offered hand. “Stiles talks about you a lot,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else.

“He’s told us a lot about you too,” The former Sheriff sighed. “Wish we were meeting under different circumstances.”

Derek nodded again. He should apologize. He should leave and never come back, let the family grieve or live as god or whoever decided. He couldn’t move though, couldn’t leave until he knew that Stiles would be alright. It didn’t matter if he deserved it or not. Derek was never under any illusions that he deserved Stiles or any of the things that wonderful man had given him. He’d brought Kate Argent into Stiles’ life, just as he’d been the instrument she used to gain access to his family's passcodes, that let her in the house the day she burned it down. Now everything was burning down around him for the second time. Derek sat down heavily. Melissa was talking, introducing Scott. Derek greeted him, not even listening to the words that came out of his own mouth. Isaac introduced himself and then faded away into the background. Stiles’ family sat down around him, waiting for news.

***

News didn’t come for another two hours. On occasion, a doctor came out and spoke to Tom and Melissa. Derek didn’t have the heart or the courage to ask what he said, especially when Melissa turned her tear streaked face into Tom’s shoulder and Stiles’ father’s face went white. Scott told him anyway, in a hollow voice. The handsome black haired man seemed to understand Derek’s need for information. He kept it limited to the bare facts, clearly trying to keep his voice light in spite of the way his hands shook. He sat next to Derek while Tom leaned against the wall, his arms folded, and Melissa bustled back and forth between the nurse’s station and the waiting room.

Hours passed that way. They watched as other families came in to the emergency room, crying children and harried mothers. Melissa brought them sandwiches and glared at Tom until he ate his. “You don’t have to-” Derek said when she offered him the turkey swiss.

“I know I don’t but I did,” She said, shoving a bag of chips into his free hand. “You need to eat, Derek.” And that’s where Stiles got it from.

Eventually, Isaac had to leave. He promised to keep his phone on and return the next day if Derek needed a ride anywhere. Derek told him not to bother. He wasn’t leaving until Stiles woke up. Isaac gave him a look, uncomfortably close to pity, that Derek didn’t know what to do with, and left.

Finally, the surgeon emerged. Derek and Scott stood up while Melissa grabbed her husband's hand tightly. "Well, Nurse Stilinski, your son seems to be out of the danger zone." He said with a weary smile. Melissa sighed and murmured a small thanks to god while the sheriff narrowed his eyes "whaddya mean seems?" Derek liked Tom Stilinski

The surgeon sighed, removing his glasses to wipe the on his scrubs. "We managed to get most of the bullet fragments out but one of his lungs collapsed and the function is… sketchy. We've got him on a respirator now, he should be healing over the next few days.”

“Days,” Derek repeated.  

Doctor Cho nodded. “The real issue is the kidneys. They started failing in the ambulance and it took a lot longer than it should have to get them working again. He’s stable for not but we're gonna keep him unconscious for the next hours, give it a bit more time. After he comes to, we’ll keep him under observation for a couple of days. A week tops, depending on his vitals.”

“A week,” Tom swallowed hard.

“It’ll be fine,” Melissa whispered, squeezing her husband’s fingers in hers.

“You can see him now,” Doctor Cho said. Scott at least perked up at the thought but Tom only nodded gravely. Melissa glanced over her shoulder as the family slipped through the double doors. Her brown eyes, almost black in the cheap hospital light, met his with a look of unmistakable pity. He must have made a pitiable sight, standing alone in a hospital waiting room, wearing clothes still stained with Stiles’ blood. He belonged there though, waiting for the news.

He couldn’t follow them in. Only family got to see Stiles and Derek wasn’t family. He was the man who got Stiles shot. He couldn’t go anywhere else though. Returning to the apartment where he’d watched Stiles mumble sleepily into his pillow the night before was unthinkable. The Stilinski family disappeared behind the double doors and Derek was alone again.

Eventually, he fell asleep. The combination of stress, fear and simple passage of time made exhaustion inevitable but that fact didn’t make him any less ashamed when Melissa returned, tapping his shoulder into waking.

“You know we’ve got some spare beds if you’d be more comfortable,” she offered.

Derek shook his head. “How’s Stiles?” _Please let me see him. Please let me see him. Please._

“About how you’d expect,” she smiled ruefully. “Would you like to see him?”

Derek nodded, following her through the double doors into the ICU. No one took any notice of them as they slipped through the chaos and sickness. Stiles got his own “room”, a striped blue curtain in a corner to separate him from the other patients. They’d brought in a couple of chairs for visitors but only Tom was sitting, as close to his son as the machines would allow. Scott leaned up against the wall, scrolling through his phone and glancing up at his brother every time the machines beeped.

Stiles had always been on the pale side. Now he was sallow, black and brown moles strikingly obvious on his milk white skin. An oxygen mask covered his lips, tubes flowed into his veins, his nose, too many places for Derek to bare. The machines whirred behind him, clicking ominously every time his chest rose and fell.

“Go sit,” Melissa said, “I’ve gotta go let the dog out anyway.”

“I’ll go too,” Scott stood up, shoving his phone back into his pocket. He hesitated almost immediately, “Unless… dad, do you need any-”

Tom shook his head. He didn’t look up. “I’ll be fine. I’ll stay with Stiles.”

“Okay, we’ll see you in bit,” Melissa bent forward to kiss the top of his head. For the first time, Tom softened, closing his eyes slowly at his wife’s touch. Melissa made her way to the bed next, pressing another kiss to Stiles’ forehead. “We’ll see you soon, Stiles,” she whispered, “Feel better.”

Scott nodded, swallowing hard. “We’ll see you later,” he agreed and followed his mother out into the ICU.

“Sit.” Stiles’ father said and it sounded like an order. Derek obeyed. Tom had Stiles’ hand cupped inside his, big calloused fingers engulfing his son’s. Stiles always bitched about how small his hands were. Ridiculous complaints like he couldn’t eat a sandwich one handed or find adult work gloves. Derek never saw it until now, how incredibly small Stiles looked in the hospital bed.

“I hate hospitals,” Tom said after a long time of listening to the machines. “Don’t know if Stiles ever told you about his mother… my first wife.”

“A little,” Derek admitted. Stiles had a picture of her and his father framed by his bed. He knew she’d died when he was in sixth grade, that she’d been key in getting the Sheriff to understand about Stiles’ identity, at least enough to start him on puberty blockers. Stiles spoke about her with a fond, far away smile most of the time. There was never any big speech, just a few tidbits like he was using his mom’s recipe for sticky buns or that she’d loved strawberry ice cream.

“She passed in the hospital after… a long illness,” The sheriff sighed, looking far older than his years, “Stiles said it… traumatized me or something. He thinks he’s a shrink but… he’s got a point, doesn’t he? When he got his surgery, I was sure something was gonna go wrong, that I’d lose him somehow. He promised it was the last time…”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Derek swallowed hard, “This is my fault.”

“Nobody blames you, son.” No one called him Son since his parents died and that made the moment all the more painful. The words of guilt he’d been keeping back, because now wasn’t the time to beg for absolution he didn’t deserve, burst out through the floodgates without his permission.

“The bullet was meant for me. Stiles got in the way, trying to protect me. She wouldn’t even know what he looked like if I hadn’t dragged him into my goddamn life-”

A hard swat to the back of his head shut him up. Tome Stilinski glared at him through narrow blue eyes. “Don’t talk stupid, boy. I didn’t spend twenty five years of my life chasing after this boy to listen to any bullshit about anyone dragging him into anything! He knew exactly what he was getting into when he signed up with you, and he wouldn’t’ve stayed if he couldn’t hack it. Hell, I never saw him as excited about anything in his life. He loves the job, and he’d do just about anything to keep it. You understand what I mean, Derek?”

He nodded, terrified and soothed at the same time. Tom gave a huff of irritation and turned back to Stiles. “Doesn’t make it any easier, I know,” he said, barely above a whisper. “but guilt will just tear you apart. He needs you together.”

“Yes, Sir.” Stiles needed him. It was difficult to imagine Stiles needing anyone for anything, much less Derek, felt ludacris but there wasn’t any lie in Tom Stilinski’s voice. So he forced himself to breath, to match the rise and fall of Stiles’ chest, and quiet the voices in his head. He’d be here as long as Stiles needed him.

***

Everything felt heavy. It took all of his strength just to lift his eyelids and blink beneath the fluorescent lights. His mouth tasted like cotton and plastic. He couldn’t move anything but his eyes. Shit, he wasn’t paralyzed, was he? He couldn’t remember how he got here. His parents stood at the very end of his line of vision, talking quietly. His dad was frowning, biting his lip as he listened to Melissa explain something. You could tell when Melissa was explaining because she was talking with her hands. All Stiles heard was the faint buzzing and beeps of machines. Somebody was holding his hand.

“Derek,” he tried to say. It came out more like a generic D sound with a hard K at the end but it got Derek to meet his eyes. His boss looked like shit, sickly pale skin colored only by heavy bags under his eyes and a full beard.

“Stiles?” His black brown eyes scanned Stiles’ face, trying to find some sign of life.

“Derek,” he tried again. Someone get this fucking tube out. _How fucking long was I out for?_

“I think he’s waking up,” Derek said, turning to speak to Dad and Melissa. His parents were there in a minute, Melissa carefully removing the tube from his mouth.

“Stiles? Son?” His dad’s voice was about the most heartbreaking thing he’s ever heard, hoarse with anxiety and fear. He looked just as bad as Derek. Was Melissa the only one who could keep her shit together during a crisis?

“Dad,” it came out as a real word this time. Progress. “What happened?

His dad had tear in his eyes. He chuckled, pushing his fingers through his hair and shaking his head. “You gave us a hell of a scare, kid.”

“What happened?” He turned to Melissa, because clearly Dad and Derek were going to be useless. His step mother had her own tears but she had the decency to wipe them off and get down to business.

“You got shot, honey,” she said in a soft, slow voice. “You’re okay now but it was touch and go for a little bit. How are you feeling? Can you rate your pain for me?”

“One?” He didn’t actually feel any pain, just sort of a vague fuzziness over his entire body. “Who shot-” then it all came back. Kate Argent with a gun pointed to his chest, demanding he give her Derek. Panic filled his chest, making him gasp for air. “Derek- you-”

“I’m fine, Stiles,” he gave his hand a squeeze as if to emphasize the point. He didn’t look fine. Stiles could feel the bandage around his hand and he looked like he hadn’t slept for days. “It’s okay. I’m fine, I promise. Just calm down.”

Stiles nodded slowly and suddenly the exhaustion was back. He dropped back onto the hospital bed, forcing himself to breath. They all watched him, eyes wide and nervous. Once his breath was under control, at least enough to form coherent sentences without gasping, he tried again. “What happened to Kate?”

“She’s in custody,” Derek assured him. “There’s tapes, a dozen witnesses, she’s going away for a long time. We’re safe.”

“Safe,” Stiles repeated, watching Derek nod his affirmation. They were safe. A doctor came in to talk to him, to run a few tests. Stiles participated as much as he could but he couldn’t stop his eyes from flitting back to Derek, making sure he was still there. He fell asleep watching him and didn’t dream at all.

***

Stiles woke up four or five times with no memory of where he was or how he got there. The Doctors said it was a common side effect of the drugs they had him on, and trauma induced amnesia was a thing so Derek tried not to let it worry him. He also tried not to preen too much when Stiles’ first questions almost always involved him and whether he was alright.

They kept Stiles much longer than either one of them preferred, talking about observation and physical therapy. As soon as his memory was back to normal, Stiles became instantly impatient, whining about perpetual boredom to anyone who would listen. There were a lot of people to listen. Nearly everyone from the office stopped by for a visit, including Isaac and Yukimura with her daughter, Kira. Lydia Martin came with her make up running and her hair in shambles, mainly to alternate between yelling at Stiles and sobbing about how he’d better not pull this shit again. Cora came down from the mountains to hug them both as tightly as Stiles’ injuries would allow. Even Captain Boyd and Erica Reyes, now Officer, soon to be Detective, Reyes, stopped by to wish Stiles well.

“You think they’re boning?” Stiles asked in a hushed whisper after they had left.

“That’s none of our business,” Derek said, mostly because he wouldn’t be surprised if Boyd could read minds or had bugged the hospital room. Privately, he was almost certain his hand had been resting on the small of Erica’s back, just where her admittedly impressive posterior curved into a perfect round bubble.

“Of course, it’s none of our business,” Stiles scoffed, “that’s what makes it interesting, asshole.”

It amazed him how easily Stiles turned an insult into a pet name. They were alone in the hospital room, private and a hell of a lot more comfortable than the ICU. Melissa was on her rounds, Scott had needed to return to work and Tom was picking up lunch.

“I’m bored,” Stiles groaned, pouring himself a glass of orange juice from the fridge. “TV sucks and I’m pretty sure I’ve read the entire internet by now. You don’t wanna play with me,” he added accusingly.

“You got shot last week.”

“Yeah, last week… try fifteen days ago, smartie.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m clearly fine. Perfectly good to go back to my apartment, at the literal very least. I’m bored…. I wanna go back to work and have something to do for a change of-”

“You’re not going back to work,” Derek said.

“Run that by me again?” Stiles said, rant screeching to a standstill.

“I said you’re not going back to work,” Derek said, calm and unblinking. “You’re fired.”

“You’re kidding me,” Stiles stared at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Derek, this was nothing. This was an accident. There’s no-”

“It was not an accident.” Derek said, anger just peeking over the surface before he could corral it down again. “Someone purposefully shot you-”

“Kate Argent is crazy… and in jail now, definite outlier!”

“Shot you specifically because of your connection to me,” Derek finished. “You can’t expect us to just pick up where we left off after something like that.”

Stiles frowned. He swallowed and said, “So what is this? The Spider-Man excuse? It’s not you, it’s my enemies? Seriously, Derek, that is so fucking weak! I can’t believe you-”

“Stiles, I think we’ve established that I can’t function without you in my life,” Derek interrupted. Stiles abruptly stopped shouting “I love you. I want to be in the hospital room if you get hurt again. I want you there if I’m hurt. I wanna meet your family as your boyfriend, or your husband, or whatever! I don’t wanna hide how I feel about you. I want to be with you, for real, and I can’t do that if I’m your boss. So… you’re fired. I’ll pay any kind of severance package you like, you’ve definitely earned it, but you are absolutely fired.”

Stiles didn’t say anything for a few long moments. Instead, he blinked at Derek owlishly before saying, “Husband?”

“Or whatever.” Derek clarified, blushing, “That wasn’t a proposal.”

“You said husband.” Stiles said, grinning.

“That’s seriously all you’re taking from this?” Derek said, “Fine, Husband if you want. I wanna be with you forever. I don’t care if it’s legal or not.”

“You’re such an asshole!” Stiles screamed, gleefully jumping into his arms. Derek caught him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Watch your injuries, for god’s sake,” he muttered into Stiles’ neck, pushing his fingers through the soft brown hair and gripping as tight as he possibly could.

“I’m fine!” Stiles laughed. He pulled Derek’s head back, making their eyes meet for one brief moment before kissing him, hard and sweet at the same time. “I’m so beyond fine! Oh my god, Derek!” He sighed, nuzzling as close as he possibly could. “I love you so much.”

Derek laughed, kissing him gently. Stiles was warm on top him, blissfully warm and happy and alive and there. “I love you, Stiles,” he muttered against his lips, never wishing to separate further than this. Stiles hummed happily and his hands slid down to squeeze Derek’s ass.

“You know I’m gonna spank you till you cry for this, right?” he said, biting on Derek’s lip to emphasize.

“Promise?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now you have diabetes. 
> 
> Oh my god, this chapter is literally the reason I started this Fic (that and fourteen). I could not wait to introduce McClinski. Basically, all my teen wolf fics have two things guaranteed: Stiles is a Trans Man and McClinski is end game. If I write a fic without the Sheriff and Melissa it's because they're too busy making out off screen. Also, I named the Sheriff Tom because everyone in the world seems to want to call him John and that's like the go to father figure name and we're better than that. 
> 
> Anyway, I love McClinski and this fic is almost over. Fluffy BDSM ahead.


	14. Epiloge

The phone rang twice before he deigned to answer. Instead, Stiles grinned as Derek’s name and picture, an especially adorable one of him falling asleep on the couch with a copy of Sandman sandwiching his nose, flashed silently across his phone. Usually, he didn’t take personal calls in the office but Braeden was in a meeting and this was a special occasion. He slipped into the hallway and answered, “Like the surprise, Derek?”

“Stiles, you asshole,” Derek’s voice was breathy, almost pained. “I was in a meeting… I had to pretend it was my phone!”

Stiles tried to suppress the snort of laughter. “What’d you do?”

“Spent fifteen minutes squatting over my damn chair, hoping no one would notice,” he gritted out.

This time Stiles laughed in earnest. “So all that yoga’s been useful after all, has it?” he teased. “I mean, did it work?”

“Yes,” Derek admitted. “I think so. Maybe? Lydia was glaring at me.”

“Lydia always glares at everyone,” Stiles chuckled. “Did you pitch a tent?”

“You know I didn’t,” he said in harsh, half whisper. Stiles did know. He’d ensured it himself that morning, when he slipped Derek’s dick into its chastity device while humming Beyonce’s Single Ladies. He’d given Derek a key, in case of emergency, but apparently it was still sitting in his top desk drawer.

He allowed himself a small, raptous sigh at the thought of it, before asking the inevitable, “and how do you feel?”

“Like I am about explode,” Derek said, in his own sigh, like just admitting it was a form of relief.  “It’s incredible… where did you even get this?”

“I’ve got my sources,” Stiles said. The plug was quite an ingenious little device, with a programmable timer. Stiles hadn’t mentioned exactly when it would go off when he put it in that morning, just that it would and on regular intervals. “You taking it out every hour and making sure it’s lubed up enough?”

“Yes, Stiles.”

“Good boy,” he ran his tongue over his lips at the thought of his lover in a public restroom stall, biting his lip to keep from making any noise as he slipped his plug in out of his puckered pink hole. “And what are you think about, when you do it?”

“You. How it feels when you’re inside of me,” Derek whispered, “How you want me safe and comfortable and full of you. How I’m yours and…” he trailed off and Stiles could picture the blush rising to his cheeks as he squirmed against the vibrating plug.

“And?” Stiles prompted.

“And you’re mine,” Derek finished.

“That’s right,” Stiles said, letting his smile slip into his voice. “You can jack off now, if you want to.”

“Can I see you?”

“Not for a few hours, buddy, sorry,” Stiles said.

“Then I’ll wait.”

“You really don’t have to-”

“I’ll wait.” Derek said with finality.

“Okay,” Stiles said, a little thrill pulsating through his body. “If that’s what you want. I’ll see you tonight.”

“And?” Derek asked, his voice soft with longing.

Stiles chuckled, “And I’ll replace that plug with the real thing and fuck you ‘till you pass out.  Sound good?”

“Yes, sir,”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


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